Heaven in Your Embrace
by Catheryne
Summary: Chuck/Blair. She had nothing and he had everything. They would learn how to love amidst the lies and scandals, despite themselves.
1. Chapter 1

**Heaven in Your Embrace**

Summary: She had nothing and he had everything. They would learn how to love amidst the lies and scandals, despite themselves.

Pairing: Chuck/Blair

AN: I want to strike a balance. And you know what I love. This time I venture into territory both familiar and unfamiliar. From Regency England and Tudor England, I am now bringing you to Colonial New York. Here are our Upper Eastsiders in the Upper East Side, only it's on the eve of the Revolutionary War. Yes, the books are surrounding me once again. But because I love this, it's worth the dust. Here's another **Chair** historical romance. I'm writing this one because I need a break from the angst and the tension of the other one.

Part 1

She looked up from her book to her mother, who walked into the room fluffing up her pristine hair. Blair placed the book facedown on the table and rose to show her respect. Eleanor Waldorf, even while she teetered on the brink of poverty, still appeared as polished as any upper crust woman in New York. Far be it, Blair thought, that anyone would wonder how she handled it when her husband scandalized aristocratic society in such manner that no one ever spoke of it aloud to Blair's virgin ears.

Blair brushed the lint off her dark muslin skirt. "Did you need me, mother?"

Eleanor Waldorf needed her of course. The woman needed her daughter at every turn since Harold, a successful lawyer and financier, was murdered on the streets of Manhattan in what had apparently been a crime of hate.

Blair remembered her father fondly, and could think of no reason why anyone would ever have such bitter feelings towards the man enough to kill him.

"Darling," Eleanor started, her eyes flickering to the hardbound book that Blair had set aside, "you are eighteen now."

"I know, mother." She was an antique. Most of the girls her age would have borne a child or two by now. Replicate, multiply, it said the crude Colonial cartoons she spied on the newspapers that Dorota sometimes sneaked into the house. "It's a ripe old age."

"And you still have no prospect," Eleanor continued sadly.

Blair's back straightened when she noticed the look her mother threw her, when the woman assessed her from head to toe. "I can go to a dance," she offered. Really, families from their circle threw parties too often, and she could probably meet a man there. "If that's what you want." She had not gone to a ball since her father's murder.

"Do you see invitations anywhere, Blair?" was Eleanor's pointed question.

She thrust her chin up. It was true. They had mostly been ignored or worse, whispered about under other people's breaths. And Blair wished she knew what crime it was her father had committed that made them such pariahs. If she knew what it was, she would know how to respond. "I can get the van der Woodsens to invite us." Because after her father died, it was only Serena who had stuck by her. And her mother probably knew what it was everyone else was loath to tell her, but Lily still allowed Serena to accompany Blair in her walks of shame down the street.

Then again, the van der Woodsens were shipping barons. The Dutch patriarch of the family made his money building ships for a company their grandparents founded when New York was New Amsterdam and shipping was the first and foremost source of income. They were safe from the ridiculous judgment of the aristocratic elite who still pretended they were lords and ladies in London.

Blair abhorred the pretentious English who came to settle in the Colonies yet absolutely refused to recognize that they were not in the Motherland. They were arrogant and cruel. And it was not just because she learned that the man who murdered her father was a lesser lord.

"I have just the prospect in mind," Eleanor stated, and for the first time she seemed enthusiastic about an idea she absolutely bubbled over. "He has only recently arrived," she told her daughter, "so he would have no idea of this nonsense with your father."

Blair had a sneaking suspicion she would not be pleased by the choice. "Arrived from?" she prompted.

Eleanor frowned, because it seemed like Blair should have known. There was only one source of good marriageable men. To an elitist like her mother, there really was. "Well from England, darling! Where else?"

"Where else," Blair repeated, fighting to tamp down the irony.

"He is the son of a very well-placed earl," her mother told her proudly, as if that summed up with so few words the man's worth as a person. "And I hear he is quite handsome."

"And rich," Blair added, because would the man really have peaked Eleanor's interest if he was not. The dire straits that Harold had left them in made that the top requirement.

"He's a younger son. He can't have the title and their lands there, so the earl gave him businesses here. He's a merchant prince!"

"How do you propose I snag him, mother?" Blair was pretty enough, true, and most everyone her age was married. But Serena van der Woodsen was the same age, rich and beautiful, and was on the hunt as well. Her parents had just vetoed her choice of a husband. Daniel Humphrey, whom Serena had been infatuated with since she was sixteen, had finally met the van der Woodsens, and it was the first time Blair had seen old Cece Rhodes lose her careful manners and spit out the word 'commoner' in company. And now the van der Woodsens were on a hunt as well.

Any race against Serena was sure to have a clear cut winner.

"Well, as you know, I still have some old connections, despite what your father has done to our name. We are throwing them a ball to welcome them."

They barely had money to keep their old home in repair, and her mother was throwing a fortune on a party. To feed other people. To wine and dine a man enough that he would want her.

"That's wasteful."

"It's a gamble," Eleanor corrected her. "When you marry him, we get it all back."

The lecture was unsettling, but Blair supposed many mothers and daughters have talked like so when plotting for a husband. Surely she could not be the only one who desperately needed a scheme to hook a man. And then she realized something. "Them?"

"I hear he's bringing along the next earl's wild son, to teach the boy some discipline that can only be found in the harsh colonies."

Blair arched an eyebrow. "And they're bringing him to New York," she said. Brilliant parenting move. Take the boy to Manhattan, and let him move around the elite, which was nothing like London at all. "They should ship him to do farm work in Long Island," Blair commented.

"Be careful," Eleanor warned her. "That boy just may be your nephew, so speak kindly to him at all times."

Blair shook her head. "I'll play with him," she promised, and Eleanor nodded in satisfaction. "Maybe run after him or let him chase me." She grinned at another thought. "Or play hide and seek with Dorota, and I'll hide him under my skirt."

Eleanor clasped her hands together, pleased at her daughter's response. "I wasn't sure how you would react. But I am very happy with your maturity, Blair."

She returned with a small smile. "They call me an antique virgin already, and whisper God knows what about us. If I need to marry a spoiled younger son to be entitled again, I would." She shrugged. Romance was not something she would find in a marriage. Her eyes fell to her abandoned book. She would always find it between the pages of her dime novels. Besides, marrying this lord would mean an instant return to the top, where she could crush everyone who ever spoke ill of her father and his damning scandal. Vengeful, but really, they gave her no choice in the matter.

"First things first," Eleanor declared, looking down at her daughter's clothes. "Let's set aside your mourning and find you some clothes that will make you stand out."

~o~o~o~o~o~

"Why do I get the ill feeling that you are enjoying your punishment?" Jack asked when Chuck hurried down the plank and onto dry land.

Chuck turned and smirked at his uncle. "Because I am, Jack. Freedom from the boring old world and into this new one. Out from under the thumb of stuffy big bad Bartholomew Bass and under the lax supervision of a more youthful and understanding Jack Bass. What's not to enjoy?"

Two men in crisp blue uniform greeted them at the dock. "Lord Jack, welcome to New York."

Chuck cringed at the reminder of home. When they turned to him, he offered the bag that he clutched. "No need to greet me. I'm his secretary."

The men stared at the proffered bag. Chuck lowered it because the weight was too much to hold up for long. Jack waved the men away. "You're pretending that you're not going to be an earl."

Chuck shrugged. "I've had enough of London for a lifetime," he informed his uncle.

"Well, secretary, you had better learn to carry your own bags," Jack advised. "You can't run from the burden and still enjoy the perks."

The younger man's brows drew together. "I'm poor here."

"How long will you last, I wonder, before you scream from a rooftop that you're Lord Chuck Bass?"

"I am more than a title," Chuck pointed out. He lifted his bags and walked beside Jack. "I am more than a name."

"Care to wager on it?" Jack challenged.

"Name your terms," Chuck said confidently. How difficult was it to pretend to be a common man when they were in the Colonies, and every man was equal and London was so far away? He would prove that he could live and get everything he wanted just as himself.

"You have lands you purchased with your father's gift for your sixteenth birthday."

"In Virginia and right by here in place called Long Island," Chuck confirmed. "You want them?"

Jack shrugged. "I've been thrown out here anyway, and you have enough waiting for you in England." He assessed his nephew. "And what would you like?"

"Unfortunately for me, you have nothing that I want," Chuck emphasized. "Second son," he taunted the sore spot that he knew Jack still chafed from. "And you've asked for so much."

"Well then," Jack offered, "the Colonies have a lot in store. What say you we close this deal with this—if I win, I get your lands in America, and if I lose, you get to take anything I have with no protest, no reluctance from me."

"I cannot think of anything you can get here that I cannot," Chuck responded. "But to hell with it, it's just lands." He extended his hand, and Jack took it and shook. "The deal is sealed, Jack."

~o~o~o~o~o~

"Blair?" Serena gasped, staring at her friend the way Eleanor had dolled her up. "Is that you?"

Blair's heart sank at the sight of her best friend, draped in a simple blue gown and looking utterly incredible. She was going to die an old maid. This Englishman she didn't even want would fall hard for Serena and there would be nothing she could do about it. She wondered if she could pick up Serena's leftovers. She grinned when she thought about what Eleanor Waldorf would do if her daughter ran off with the van der Woodsen rejected Humphrey because clearly, none of the sons of Manhattan's elite would have her for reasons still secret from her.

"You look adorable," Serena said, smiling at Blair in an beautifully odd gown that her mother and Dorota had put together from one of her older ones—an out of date but luxurious gown they had bought when Harold was alive and they were still rich.

"And I'll run out of men judging by how you look," Blair said in response.

Serena huffed, then walked over to her best friend. She took the silver band of lace from Blair's hands and helped her place it around her head and tie it on her nape. "There you go." Serena turned Blair around and pinched her cheeks. "Perfect," she said as Blair's cheeks grew red.

"I wonder what he looks like," Blair said out loud.

"Your mother said he's handsome."

"He's a British lord and I'm a spinster. Of course, he's handsome," Blair told Serena. "I hope he didn't bring his nephew tonight. I don't have toys yet. I was planning to get some tomorrow so I can entertain the boy. But it's late. The boy's probably already asleep."

"Good idea!" Serena exclaimed. "And I'll bring some of Eric's old ones over here. I hope he likes puzzles."

"Mother said he's a wild boy," Blair offered tentatively. "Puzzles might not work." She bit her lip. "I'll think of something to entertain him."

Serena chuckled. "I just heard some wonderful gossip, and I hope it's true." Blair turned to her friend and leaned forward. "Do you remember Nate Archibald?"

"Yes," Blair responded. "We went to school with him."

"And he liked you," Serena said wistfully. "And you liked him."

Blair gasped. "How did you know?"

Serena shrugged. "I know everything."

"Right. They went to France."

Serena grinned. "Rumor is that his father ran with their friends' money. He promised to invest them here in the Colonies and he went missing, leaving Mrs Archibald and Nate in a lurch. So they're coming home."

Blair sighed. "The sins of the father," she murmured. And then she forced a smile. "Well at least if Nate is still the same old Nate, and this English lord wants you, I have a fallback. Nate already likes me and I'm sure he's not going to mind that secret everyone's keeping about my father." Serena's eyes widened, and Blair's eyes narrowed. "Serena—" She grabbed her friend's hand.

The blonde shook her head. "Blair, no."

"You know everything," she whispered.

"B, you're my best friend. And I can't tell you. It's for your own good."

Blair tightened her jaw and pulled her hand away. She stalked out of her room and heard the music coming from the first floor. Once she descended those stairs, everyone would see, would look at her, would know what happened with her father when she still did not. And her best friend knew all along.

She whirled to the other side where the balcony was. Blair slammed out and drew a deep breath.

"It is rather crowded in there, is it not? Fresh air." Her gaze landed on the cigar he held in his hand. "Virginia tobacco," he said. "Stellar quality."

"Fresh air," she stated with sarcasm.

"Touché." He snuffed out his cigar, then turned to her. "And what brings you running out here when there's a delightful party in there?"

Blair stepped over to the balcony railing and turned her face up into the night sky. "I wanted to be alone and be myself before I pretend to be somebody else."

She turned to the stranger, who now smiled a little at her words. "I like that. Maybe that's what I'm doing too." He placed the tobacco on the railing, and it fell down to the ground below. He extended his hand to her. "Chuck."

Blair shook his hand, and felt the warmth wrap around her fingers. "Blair," she said. "Nice to meet you."

"Pleasure's all mine," he drawled, bringing her hand up to brush a kiss on her knuckles. At the touch of his warm, moist lips on her skin, Blair jerked her hand away. Chuck gave her a lopsided smile. "I'm sorry. Do men not greet women like that in this country?"

The man sounded so patronizing that her shackles rose. "In America, no man is so brazen and disrespectful. Your mouth was wet," she hissed, wiping the back of her hand on her skirt.

"Was it?" he responded without apology.

She backed out of the balcony and back into the house. "You are insufferable, arrogant like every last lord who thinks they can come over here and hang their titles over our heads!"

"Blair?"

Blair turned around and saw her mother standing on the top step with a gentleman behind her. "Mother." She nodded her head towards the stranger.

Eleanor patted the man's arm and said, "Lord Jack Bass, this is my lovely daughter who I have been telling you about."

The man stepped forward and took her hand, then brushed a dry kiss over where Chuck had sent spasms of electricity into her body. "Unfortunately, my dear, I am a lord but I assure you I did not come here to wave my title about." Blair flushed. The man looked at Chuck. "And you've met my secretary."

Blair looked back at Chuck in surprise. "You should learn not to judge so quickly, Blair," Chuck pointed out. "It turns out I live on a salary with a noble job. And you've hurt my feelings."

She would have been sorry, if he had just stopped talking earlier than he did. Eleanor cleared her throat. "Perhaps a dance then, Blair, with Lord Jack."

Blair walked stiffly forward and hooked her arm around Jack's. "If you please, my lord."

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 2**

"He's staring at me," she stated as Lord Jack whirled her around in the fast waltz that started to play as they walked to the dance floor. Most of the other girls her age stopped dancing immediately. It was considered wildly unacceptable to dance the waltz with a man not your husband, given how close the partners had to stand next to each other. But Blair enjoyed the dance, and allowed the aristocrat to take her through the paces.

"Who is?" Jack inquired.

Blair nodded towards where Chuck learned against a column with a drink in his hand. When he spotted both Blair and Jack looking at him, he smirked and raised his glass in greeting.

"He must find you attractive," Jack offered as his response. "It is not surprising." Blair blushed. "Your mother is watching me like a hawk. I pray it's not for the same reason my secretary is watching you."

Blair turned and saw her mother looking at them with a satisfied smile. Blair giggled, and immediately the society women who had turned up to study the Englishman who arrived turned their curious gazes at Blair Waldorf. "If I tell you why, do you promise not to run away screaming?" Jack's eyes glistened, then he nodded. "If you need to depart, do it courteously so my reputation will remain on the same level of disgrace as it was before you came, and not be pulled down even more."

"I promise. Now will tell me?"

"My mother has this insane idea that I should marry you, Lord Bass," she confided. "Out here, you are quite the catch." For some reason, Jack seemed to find it hilarious, because he laughed and laughed. Blair pulled slightly away. "You need not be insulting."

Jack pulled her back close in the circle of his arms to keep up with their waltz. "No, no. I'm sorry. I was just flabbergasted by the thought. I am a catch?"

"Quite so. You have thriving businesses and are a blueblood," Blair enumerated. "The older families here would adore having a nobleman as part of the family."

Jack smirked and shook his head. "Back in England I am worthless as a second son." His gaze landed at his nephew, who now had a small plate of appetizers in his hand, and was still watching him dance with Blair. There was the catch. And nobody knew. If Chuck only admitted it, he would likely have Eleanor Waldorf racing to get him to dance with her daughter. He would have lands by the end of Chuck's foray into the Colonies, that much was certain. Chuck Bass seemed taken with the girl, and the girl was in the market for a wealthy husband. Sooner or later, Chuck would need to exercise the advantage that his birth gave him. "When was I supposed to know I am to marry you?"

"Why, when you fall in love with me of course," Blair shared with a wry smile. "She just had never figured in how long and how hard I would have to work for that."

"You have endless charms. It should not take too long," Jack responded.

She spotted one of her oldest friends Penelope and her mother observing her with Lord Jack. She had not spoken to Penny in so long. After her father died, Penny had avoided her like the plague, as if being near her would cause the scandal to rub off on her. Yet even with that stigma to the Waldorf name, Penny still made it to her party to ogle Jack Bass.

"But the question is, Blair, do you want to marry me?"

She looked up at Jack in surprise. Her mother certainly did not ask that, would not ask the question even after the guests have left. And after all her conversations with her friends who married these past two years, no one had asked them the question. An eligible man was an eligible man, and everyone should be so fortunate that an eligible man should want them for a wife.

She answered him as honestly as she could, "There are worse fates than to be married to you."

"And you do not even know me," Jack murmured.

Blair saw him glance up over her head and turned curiously, saw his secretary making his way through the few couples dancing. Jack slowed with the music. Chuck—that was his name. Blair's eyes flickered to the way his hip moved in his swagger. The man walked even more obnoxiously than his employer, she thought. Her father had a secretary. The little man in his horn-rimmed glasses hunched his shoulders and flitted this way and that, trying to appear as unobtrusive as possible. But Chuck just swaggered as if he owned New York City.

"I'm right here, Blair," he drawled in amusement.

She looked up to him, half embarrassed that she had been openly caught ogling. Chuck gestured to his eyes. She met his gaze. "I was just studying closely. I thought there was a problem with your hip, the way to seemed to be strutting so."

"Excuses." He extended his hand in an offer. "Would you dance with me?"

Jack released her hand, and she found it odd how easily Lord Jack could give her over to his employee. "Chuck is an accomplished dancer."

"When did he ever find the time to train?" she asked. To Chuck, she said in refusal, "I am parched and exhausted. I hope you will forgive me."

The dark eyes narrowed, but the secretary seemed trained enough not to protest. "Another time then. Perhaps another ball."

That was safe. Blair hardly ever was invited anywhere. "Definitely." And then she wondered how the man was so arrogant to think someone like him would be invited to any of elite New York's parties again.

Blair excused herself from the two. She eyed her mother, who seemed pleased with her round on the dance floor with Lord Jack. This would at least place her quite comfortably on her mother's good graces for the next few hours. Blair noticed admiring gazes turned to the stairway, and knew her best friend finally made her way back down to the ball.

Since she had not walked far, she could still hear the two behind her. Her back stiffened when she heard the audible intake of breath from the man she was supposed to hook. Her mother probably noticed a change in Lord Jack, because Eleanor's pleased demeanor hardened into impatience.

"Good Lord, Chuck, do you see that?" she heard Jack's exclamation.

Blair swallowed. She walked stiffly away from the dance floor. The look on her mother's face was enough to change the direction of her walk. She veered left, and then noticed the cold eyes of her old friend Penelope. She licked her lips, picked up her skirt and turned further left and almost jogged away. If her mother saw this, Blair would not hear the end of it regarding her unlady-like behavior.

She spied the opening a little further away. Blair scurried over with her head held high. She glanced towards the stairway and met her best friend's eyes. Blair locked her jaw. She was still mad at Serena, not just for keeping the secret for so long but for refusing to tell her now that Blair found out she knew. But Serena had known her for so long that even with the distance between them, without words, Serena could tell that Blair needed to escape.

So Serena did what she did best.

She gave a beaming smile to everyone who looked, clasped her hands before her and twirled around on the step. Most everyone turned to her in admiration. She scanned the crowd and young men vied for her attention, eager to dance with her.

Blair released a tightly held breath. Serena could save her using what Blair was most jealous of. With everyone's attention off of her, Blair slipped out of the party unnoticed. She ran out of the doorways and into the dark, empty street. She took a deep breath.

"You do enjoy fresh air. I should remember that when you next go missing."

She wanted some peace and quiet away from prying eyes. Now here the arrogant man was again. Chuck just truly seemed like he did not know his place in this Society. At least Blair was fully aware of the depths her family had sunk into. Even while she struggled to get back on top for her mother's sake, she admitted to herself that she was no longer as celebrated as Serena was.

With Jack's help, she could be back where she belonged.

"And you suppose we would be in the same room together again?" she said bitingly.

"My employer seems rather enamored of you. I am certain we will be in the same room together again," he answered easily.

"He is also enamored of Serena van der Woodsen. I would not trust how easily his attention seems to be swayed."

Chuck drew a cigar from his pocket. Blair noticed the action, and commented, "Those cigars are expensive. My father used to smoke them from time to time. And we were rich, but he prized them so much he hardly smoked more than three in a week. Jack must pay very well."

His dark eyes met hers, and she noted the brief admiration he in his regard. Chuck placed the stick back. "I was never good with money. I need someone to remind me not to be so wasteful. You sound practical."

"I should be, or else we would not survive." She glanced back at the grandly lit house. The entire place looked as if it was bleeding out money like there was no tomorrow. She felt Chuck grasp her elbow.

"Walk with me," the man told her. "You look like you need to get away from this for a while."

And just because he noticed, she nodded her head in agreement. She fell into an easy step beside him as they walked. Blair felt his body brush against hers with every step, and she wondered if she should move to the side so that they would not be too near each other. It would be such scandal if anyone saw. It might even lessen her already pathetic reputation. But it had been too long since she walked with someone, and the warmth of his body was pleasant. She did not move away.

"So, Chuck, how is it working for Lord Jack?" she said to strike up a conversation.

Chuck smirked, and met her inquiring look. "I rather enjoy it. He never makes demands. Gives me the freedom to manage my time."

That was why he was able to come and go as he pleased. Not a lot of people allowed their employees such free rein. "He must be a nice man to give you such leeway. And he must trust you well."

"He trusts me like I am family," he answered easily.

Blair nodded, then looked down at the pebble she had inadvertently kicked. It made a funny noise. She kicked at it again. Such a waste of energy, but she wanted to waste energy then. Blair followed the pebble and gently kicked at it again, watched it roll to a crevice on the street. She toed at it, but it would not come back up. Chuck bent down and picked the pebble out of the small crater, then placed it by her foot. Blair broke into a smile, then gave it a rather hard kick, sending it spinning away and down a gutter.

"So I would see you again," Blair concluded.

"I know so. We would likely pay you a visit tomorrow morning."

"That should make mother very happy."

"Would it make you happy?" Chuck inquired.

"I need to get married," she told him. "Lord Jack is most eligible by the standards of New York."

Chuck frowned. "You did not answer my question."

"It is not your place to ask," she parried. She looked up at his eyes, and thought she saw something in them that should not be. They stood under the lamplight that was quickly dimming. The street seemed to fall away from her vision. It was the darkness, she told herself, not the fact that her focus was slowly growing narrow, only capturing his eyes as he studied her. "Besides," she said breathlessly, cursing at the sound because she needed to seem stronger, "he is my only choice."

"I cannot believe that."

"You would understand. If you stayed around a little while longer, you would know why. We are in the same dire straits, you and I," Blair told the secretary. "Only I am a woman." And that answered it all. If he was an intelligent man, he would know.

Like he could tell that it was his hips he was watching earlier, she could tell the exact moment that his eyes moved from hers to her lips. They parted in response, and she felt them tingling under the attention they received. "Why would he be the only choice?"

"Because in Manhattan's elite, no one in their right mind would risk marrying me," she responded breathlessly.

"Have they not seen you?" he sputtered, and Blair's heart soared at the incredulous lilt to his voice.

She cocked her head to the side. "I should not tell you this, lest it affect my chances with your employer." Blair eyed him, and noted that his focus was still in the way her lips moved. "But—"

"He would know anyway," he finished for her. She nodded. "That is probably the first task he would give me here in America. He is so taken with you, I would be asked to find out all I can about you."

"Well, in that case," she started.

"If I find out another way, while I am working for him, I would be forced to tell him," Chuck said, his voice a little bit hoarse.

She wanted to touch his throat, maybe soothe it a little. "But if I tell you, of my own accord, you may omit it."

"Aye." He nodded his head, stepping forward, closing the already nonexistent gap between them. "Because then, you would have told me in confidence, as your friend."

His eyes moved to meet hers, and she asked, "Are we friends, Chuck?"

"If you choose us to be," he responded. His hand touched hers, tentatively. Blair looked down at where his fingers teased the back of her hand. She turned her hand and touched her fingers to his. At the slight touch, he closed his hand around hers. "I can be a very worthy ally."

She had no doubt of it. In her quest to fulfill her mother's wishes and marry Jack Bass, there was no one of better use than the man's secretary—trusted as much as a family member, close enough to Jack to be taken with him in any ball, any parlor, any business dealing.

"What do you say, Blair?"

Her lips curved. "Will you help me hook myself a Bass?" she said playfully.

"With all the tools at my disposal," he assured her. "With all my resources."

Her eyebrow lifted. "Which would not be considerable," she said wryly.

He seemed offended at first, but after a beat or two, he relaxed. "It's enough to give you what you need."

"Then I accept." Blair paused. "Wait a moment. What do you get out of this?"

"The supreme pleasure of seeing you smile," he answered easily.

Blair pulled her hand away. "I do not appreciate being played, Chuck," she warned him.

Chuck laughed softly. "Nothing is easier for a working man than to be on the good side of his employer's wife. I trust you will take care of me once you are married to Jack."

"Sounds reasonable enough," she agreed.

Chuck nodded, satisfied. "Now tell me. Why are New York men so ignorant as not to fight over each other to take Blair Waldorf for a wife?"

Blair smiled. The more she told him now in confidence, the less Jack Bass would find out from his secretary. Of course, he would eventually know it from those pandering to him, but it should take some time—time which Blair could spend making Jack fall hopelessly in love with her that he could no longer fall out even if he wanted to.

It was perfect.

"They are saving themselves. Unfortunately, the Waldorf name is now equated with scandal. My father was murdered over it, shot in the dark by a coward."

"I'm sorry."

She shrugged his words away. They were friends, but only because she needed him to capture Jack. There was no need to pretend they were sympathetic enough to each other that he would be sorry for her loss. "Suffice to say it is something that is so horrible that no one dares tell me. Until now. But everyone else seems to know."

"Blair, I am sorry you lost your father so violently."

"You did not know him."

"I know you."

She shook her head, because there was no sense getting lost in his sympathy. But she had wanted sympathy for some time, some genuine condolence for the loss of a man that, despite whatever scandal he became immersed in afterwards, had been a warm, generous and loving father to her. She gave Chuck a thin smile. Her throat had closed up, and she felt her eyes heat up with tears. She held them at bay. "Thank you."

He nodded, then gestured to the street. They started to walk back to the Waldorf house.

Her voice was quiet when she posed, "Will you find out for me?"

Chuck looked at her with furrowed brows. "Find out what?"

"Why my father was murdered," she answered. "What the scandal is that no one will tell me."

"Do you not think that perhaps the reason everyone has kept quiet about it—even your mother—is that it is kinder to you?"

She shook her head. Her voice was firm when she told him, "I want to know if that reason—whatever it is—is enough to lose my father over."

They walked quietly back, passing by the gutter where she had lost the pebble. Blair looked down at the ground to see if there were any other stray pebbles she could kick through the distance back to her house. Her hands fisted to her sides.

And then she felt him grasp her wrist. She turned to him, and he looked up at the sky. Blair had been looking for pebbles on the ground for some time, and almost lost her balance when she had to crane her neck to look at the dark sky. But when she did—

The dim lamp lights, the flickering candles in a few of the windows around them, utterly paled in comparison. The sky was a blanket of darkness save for the sparkling jewels that littered it. She had never seen as many stars as there were in heaven right at that moment.

A long time ago, when she was a little girl, her father had brought her to a field of sunflowers. They had been bright and yellow and so beautiful the way they reached up to the afternoon sky. In the morning, her father told her, all the flowers leaned to the east. Late that afternoon Harold Waldorf pointed back to the field, and to Blair's amazement the flowers all leaned to the west.

"They follow the sun wherever it is."

"That's why they're sunflowers," she had whispered.

It was the day Harold taught her the song that she played over and over again in her mind when Dorota had come into her room, just a few months ago and told her that her father was dead. Blair had run straight to her mother, but Eleanor was seated in the dark, rocking in the teak chair that had since been sold to a lovely young couple who used it to rock their baby to sleep. The chair had been a favorite of Blair's, because her father used to read there close to where the sunlight streamed into the room. When Blair woke up in the morning as a child, she would scamper up to her father's lap as Harold put down his book and read her fairy tales.

The state of her mother was enough to convince her. Blair had gone to her father's study and taken the worn book from its shelf. As she passed, she ran her fingertips over the table and righted a few of the papers that had fallen from their envelope. Her father appreciated it when it was neat and orderly. She had placed the envelope in its perfect perpendicular angle to the table when she realized her father would not know how well she straightened his study.

The stars stared back down at her. What was the title of that song? Believe me, if all those endearing young charms. That was it. It was Thomas Moore. Her father played it well on the piano, and she had never been able to sing it in tune except when he played it. Never. Not even if she played it herself.

"As the sunflower turns to her God when he sets the same look that she turned when he rose," she murmured softly.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked in his low voice. He was close to her now, almost as if he knew if he did not support her she would stumble. Blair was not used to looking up at the stars anymore.

"Sunflowers," she admitted. He was holding her by her elbow, she vaguely acknowledged.

"Sunflowers," he repeated, sounding them out like it was not right.

"I was thinking of how sunflowers follow the sun, no matter where the sun goes."

Chuck nodded, as if it made perfect sense now.

She had been so sad when evening came on that field. The sunflowers, in their dark world, seemed to droop and lose their brightness. And that had been when Harold Waldorf brought his daughter out into the porch and pointed to the sky. And there had been no gap in their magnificence. There were so many, they blinded her almost.

"There's always a star, Blair," Harold told his daughter.

"So many. Maybe hundreds!"

"So many. Billions and billions that no one will be able to count them, even in one hundred thousand lifetimes," he said.

"Daddy, there are no stars when it's cloudy out. Dorota said." She had loved talking to her father. Her father entertained any conversation, even the ones Eleanor found to be too impractical to talk about.

"Well, next time tell Dorota there are stars up there. Sometimes they're just hiding, but after the clouds melt into ran—"

"When the skies cry," Blair interrupted, because it was how she had understood the rain.

"Right." Harold beamed. Harold was always ever proud of everything Blair said and did. "Sometimes, the stars are hiding, but after the skies cry, the stars come out and you can see them all again."

Blair smiled up at the stars in the sky. If Chuck had not pointed to them, she would never have known there were twinkling there. "When did the skies cry?" she wondered softly. "It's such a clear night."

"It is," he answered. "Such a beautiful night."

She nodded, and felt his eyes on her. She turned to look at him. She shifted on her feet. "So is London more beautiful than New York?"

Slowly, he shook his head. "Hands down, I've found something here that nothing back home will ever compare to."

She nodded. "It's the simple things. I wish it was always so simple." But life intruded. There were responsibilities. "What time will you and Jack be by tomorrow?"

"What time do you want to receive us?" he asked.

Blair smiled. "If I had my way, I would sleep in until nine. But you cannot dictate—"

"We'll be by at ten. I hope you have a restful sleep."

There was going to be a benefit in having Chuck help her hook herself a Bass.

tbc


	3. Chapter 3

Definitely short, but better than none, eh. :-)

Part 3

Chuck stopped at the foot of the steps leading up to her house. Blair turned to him with a frown when he did not follow her as she climbed. "I'm not coming in," he told her. The place was crowded, and too many hungry eyes were turned to Jack for the blood they knew pumped in him. And too many hungry eyes were in Chuck for reasons outside his unknown title.

Truly, that place was a hunting ground for any unmarried man who seemed like he was virile enough to produce children.

He shook his head. He had seen the Franklin propaganda urging the Americans to propagate and beat the Motherland by sheer number alone. Ridiculous. And he felt violated by the greedy stares of women of child-bearing age.

Her eyebrows rose. She quickly ran down the steps again and placed a hand on his arm. "Won't your employer be angered that you have suddenly vanished from the party?" The last thing she would want, he thought, was for Chuck to get into trouble. It would be harder to utilize him in her quest to marry Lord Jack if the man was displeased with him.

Chuck smirked, then nodded towards the doorway. His uncle watched in amusement from the doorway, and Chuck realized how close it was that Blair Waldorf, for a woman trying to snare another man, stood to him. With her hand on his arm, they probably looked the very portrait of young lovers. He turned his gaze of her. Blair's eyes widened in her guilty surprise. She stepped abruptly away from Chuck. His eyes crinkled when he realized that he did not imagine the guilt.

Inside her head, there were things she thought of that made her guilty.

It was not as if she owed Jack anything. Jack had been staring at the blonde on the steps, just like any other man in that house. "Why don't we ask him?" he drawled. Chuck looked up at Jack. He almost staggered back at the smell of his uncle's breath. Jack had a pleasant time inside while he went out for a walk with Blair. The stench of alcohol was overwhelming. "My lord, will you be displeased that I have no plans of returning to the party?"

Blair's voice dropped. The hand on his arm tightened. "Chuck, that is no longer necessary."

Jack shook his head. He walked down the steps and took Blair's hand from Chuck's arm. Chuck's jaw tightened at the simple movement. Jack brought her hand to his lips. He could tell when Blair noted the alcohol as well. She grimaced at the scent before quickly covering it. "We need to retire so it would be best that he not come up. We will pay you a call early tomorrow." Chuck was impressed at how clearly Jack spoke given the state of his inebriation. The performance was stellar. "I have informed your mother, and she welcomes us."

"Of course she will," she murmured. To Jack, she said, "You are a gentleman, my lord. Nothing would please me more."

At that, Chuck sighed. Jack had given Eleanor Waldorf exactly what she wanted, even if her daughter deserved far better than the first eligible man who turned up willing to marry her. "We shall be by at ten," he informed Jack. "That should give Blair some time to rest tonight."

She threw him a grateful smile. Jack gave him a puzzled one. Blair turned to Jack with an inquiring tilt to her head. She was playing her part well. And it did not even seem hollow. "My lord, will you bring your nephew by?" she asked. Chuck's eyebrows shot up to his forehead. "I would so love to play with the boy."

"My nephew," Jack exclaimed.

Chuck straightened his stance. "Lord Jack did not take his nephew with him." She seemed disappointed, so he asked, "Do you like children, Blair?"

Blair shrugged her lovely shoulders. It teased his mind suddenly, unexpectedly, that someday he would like to kiss her shoulder. He would find it smooth undoubtedly, and he would breathe in fragrance so extraordinary no flower in the world could compare. "In truth, I had planned to play with him myself. Dorota, my maid, enjoys hide and seek, and I would have let him hide behind my skirts if he wanted."

Chuck's chest tightened, as did the crotch of his pants, at her innocent comment. Certainly she did not expect to elicit such reaction, so he cleared his throat to hide his discomfort. His uncle, on the other hand, seemed to find it hilarious, and grew red around his neck in his effort to keep himself calm.

"My nephew would not survive outside of England, I am afraid," Jack told Blair, much to Chuck's consternation. "He has been far too pampered and adored. The Colonies would surely try his patience at every turn."

"He is not so very bad, my lord," Chuck responded, his voice grating.

Blair looked up at Chuck with awe. "That is nice of you to defend the boy so," she told him, and she would, because he was her ally now. "But I suppose we have to believe Lord Jack. He must know his nephew well."

"Not as well as he might think," Chuck offered. "Now, let me take Lord Jack back to our hotel and give you back the remainder of your night. Sleep well, Blair."

He was satisfied when she opened her mouth, then closed it when she found herself at a loss for words. She then nodded, then made her way back up to the house and the dying party. Without Jack Bass, there seemed to be no reason for the guests to stay. Little by little, people tricked out of the house, squeezing by Blair as she made her way up.

Chuck watched from the bottom step as she passed by the people on her way into her own home. She was largely unnoticed. But no one could not notice Blair Waldorf, with the lips and the eyes that enthralled him under the New York moonlight. So he decided she was merely ignored.

Perhaps he would find out what it was that had happened to her father, and he might give her the answer she needed. He turned back to Jack, who no longer hid the fat smile on his face.

"I can smell my Virginian farms draw closer to my grasp by the day," Jack proclaimed.

Chuck shook his head. The lands were nothing, but losing to Jack, who had been more of an older brother than an uncle, was something he could not allow. "Dream long and hard, Jack. You will not win this."

"She has got you wrapped around her little finger."

"Do not be ridiculous," Chuck snapped. "I am wrapped around no woman's finger. I am tied to nothing."

"Of course," Jack replied. "Which is why you have gone and escaped to America where you are bound by nothing." They started walking towards the hotel that Jack had found while the home he purchased was being aired and cleaned. "Yet you find yourself bound by a deal. You cannot even get what you want."

"I can get what I want without my title, Jack," Chuck told his uncle with all confidence.

Jack chuckled. "Lord Chuck Bass, heir to an earldom, would have tumbled the woman by now, perhaps in her own bedroom with her mother none the wiser that her daughter's precious virginity now stains her pristine sheets."

For some reason, the picture that Jack painted angered him.

"And then Eleanor Waldorf would have nothing on the selling block, because the nobleman had taken it for free."

"Jack," Chuck said softly, in warning. But Jack, with the generous alcohol passed around the Waldorf ball, seemed too loose, too careless.

"Do you think Eleanor Waldorf would still want a wedding for her girl once she realizes that someone had taken Blair Waldorf's maidenhead? Or would I get her cheaper then, at the cost of roof and board?"

Chuck grabbed the back of his uncle's coat. "Jack, you are drunk." He heard the scandalized whispers around them, and realized what a sight they were. He was the secretary, and he was manhandling the British lord. Chuck released his uncle's coat and held the man by his shoulders, holding him up as they veered down the street.

"I am not too drunk to notice that body. Shame she cannot be garbed in something more form-fitting, like the gown of that van der Woodsen girl."

"Who is that?"

Jack chuckled and shook his head. "You are so young still, Chuck, to latch onto a woman and not notice the other delectable ones lying in wait."

"And you are too old to be noticing every skirt that darts your way," Chuck pointed out to his uncle.

"I would love to bed her," Jack said thoughtfully. "Take away the unimpressive garb and the girl can be a welcome lay." Chuck hoped he was talking about the faceless van der Woodsen girl he mentioned, although it did not seem likely. "She is filled in all the right places, and should not be so difficult. I smell the desperation in that house."

"Forget her," Chuck advised his uncle. "She is looking for a husband, Jack."

"A girl can change her mind, especially when there is no other choice."

"Jack," Chuck repeated, his voice firmer this time, "forget Blair Waldorf. We will find you another woman here more suited to your needs. She will only rope you into a marriage you do not want." He should not have bothered. He was too deep into the bottle to carry on a conversation.

"We only need to change her situation, Chuck," Jack lectured him. "She has one thing she can hold over any man's head, that he would marry her. One thing that sets apart a girl hunting for a husband and a woman needing a patron. That, my boy, is the hymen." Jack smiled, leaned forward, and grabbed Chuck's face with both his hands. "This is where you are talented, Chuck. Help your uncle. Pop the tart little cherry and do what you do best—go running home to England. I'll do the rest."

Chuck pulled away from Jack. "I am not interested."

"You might fool every last one of these Colonials, but I know who you really are, Charles," Jack said slowly. "And I know you want to take what she and her mother are so desperately selling." Chuck shook his head. "I saw your face when you were saying your goodnight outside the house, when you thought no one was watching."

"Jack, the alcohol has poisoned your brain into hallucinations."

"Tell me you would not enjoy Blair Waldorf. This is a free shot, Chuck. I am not a blind man. She would give it up to you. Then I get what I want."

His uncle's eyes were bleary, and Chuck knew he would hardly remember this drunken conversation. He looked around and noted that they were now alone, so close to their hotel. His palm itched, and his hand fisted. Chuck found himself drawing back his arm and slamming his first into the side of Jack's face.

Jack sprawled on the rough street, shook his head, then rubbed his jaw. He glared up at Chuck. "What the hell was that?"

"Some man went running by and attacked you," Chuck spat. He extended his hand to Jack to help the man stand. "You did not even see him?" Jack shook his head. "Let us get you up into your room. Sleep it off."

tbc


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: **I have got two fluff stories going on at the same time now. This is so weird. I'm currently studying the feasibility of the fourth installment of my Against the Dying of the Light series though, so if you're one of the readers of my more dramatic fics, I hope you still remember that universe. The new story will involve Chuck, Blair and York Bass.

**Part 4**

After the unpleasant conversation he had had with his uncle, Chuck's brain was captured by illicit thoughts of Blair Waldorf spread naked on her pristine bedsheets. He woke up that night in cold sweat, his body burning hot. Jack's words, drunken words that they were, coagulated into tense visions in his head. When Chuck woke, he found himself hard, yearning for the girl's hands on his body.

Angry as he had been, Chuck stalked out of his bedroom and into his uncle's where Jack had been snoring off the alcohol in his system. With one massive pull, he jerked the pillow out from under Jack's head, and gave a satisfied grunt when Jack groaned in complaint.

That ought to hurt at the least.

True to form, Jack had been too hung over that morning to make it to the Waldorf house. Chuck noted the crestfallen look of Eleanor's face when the maid—Dorota, he heard—opened the door and he stood there alone.

"Where is Lord Jack?" Eleanor demanded.

"Resting off the grand ball, Mrs Waldorf," he answered as politely as he could.

"And he sent you instead?"

Chuck smiled grimly. "The English is far too polite to just send a notice of cancellation," he responded, allowing a little tinge of his Bass arrogance to creep into his voice.

"Of course," Eleanor murmured.

"Mr Chuck," greeted the maid. Chuck looked down in surprise that Dorota knew his name. It meant one thing to him at least, and it caused a dozen little butterflies to flutter in his stomach. "Miss Blair mentioned you come."

Chuck licked his lips, then nodded. "She said I was coming along with Lord Jack."

Dorota shrugged. "She mention you come. Don't know about Lord Jack."

He noticed the displeasure in Eleanor's face. "Well, Dorota, go ahead and call Blair. You will extend Jack's apologies, I presume?"

"That I will, Mrs Waldorf."

"Good." Eleanor turned to leave, not needing to waste her time given that a servant had been sent in lieu of the lord she had been expecting. "Don't tarry now. Your lord must be waiting for you."

Chuck made his way to the small salon, unimpressive now, but must have been grand in its prime. The walls were bare, but must have been adorned once upon a time with paintings and other wall hangings as evidenced by the nails embedded in the cement. His own home, back in England, boasted fine artwork from the Continent. He wondered, as he stood looking at the slightly lighter paint above the fireplace, if Blair enjoyed looking at paintings as much as he did. If she liked them, then it was a pity that her home was now stripped of those finer things.

"There used to be a pretty landscape there. It was of Colorado."

When Blair Waldorf 's voice sounded from the doorway, Chuck turned at once and gave her a smile. She released her breath and walked over to them in a sunny yellow garment that reminded him of sunflowers. Odd, because even with the melancholy so apparent in her eyes, Chuck could not see her following the sun everywhere it went.

She stepped into the salon and gestured towards the bare wall by the door. "There was a realism here. It was my father's prized possession and my favorite."

He cocked his head to the side. "What was it?"

"It was a maid floating on her way along a river."

He would take her to the museum in London, and tour her around his ancestral home. There were so many paintings there she would want to live there forever. At that, he cursed Jack for putting thoughts like those into his brain.

Until he realized all Jack ever proposed was a night to deflower her, not a lifetime in England.

She walked over to him, then looked behind him. "So you came alone? Lord Jack couldn't make it after all?"

"Disappointed?" Because really, she did not sound disappointed, much to his delight.

"Not at all." She grinned. "This should give us time to plan."

The proposal intrigued him. "I am willing to bet we would be astounding scheming together."

"Don't you remember, Chuck?" she pressed. "You promised me you'll help me hook a Bass."

"Right."

Blair glanced at the empty doorway. Her bright skirts flurried as she hurried to him. Blair caught his hand and tugged. "Come with me."

Chuck allowed her to pull him along. She stopped and squealed at the figure that darted up to the doorway. "Dorota!" she complained. "You shouldn't sneak up on me."

The maid was wide-eyed. "Where are you going, Miss Blair?"

"Chuck and I are going out," she declared.

Chuck watched the interaction curiously.

"Miss Blair, your reputation—"

Blair rolled her eyes. "Dorota, first of all, what else can they say about us that they haven't already? Second, it's daylight. What shenanigans can we possibly come up with?"

Chuck could think of more than a dozen, but he did not contribute to the conversation. Dorota eyed him with suspicion, and he forced away images of him and Blair hiding out of the public eye doing things that should be hidden. The maid was cryptic, and he thought she might recognize his dream images of her charge.

He thought Dorota noticed the flush of guilt creeping through his neck.

"You never know, Miss Blair," she grumbled. Dorota shook her head. "When Mr Nate come home, he expect an angel."

Blair flushed, then glanced back at Chuck. "We're not talking about this, Dorota. Besides, who told you about Nate?"

"Miss Serena thinks you not get married to this Lord Jack."

Serena, Chuck thought, was the smartest girl in the world.

"Miss Serena thinks you get married to Mr Nate once he get back."

Yeah, that Serena girl was dumb.

"Nate is a pauper. Mom will die," Blair pointed out. "Well, Dorota, will you let my friend and me pass?"

The maid grumbled, then stepped away from the door. After giving him one warning glare, she allowed Blair and Chuck through.

The moment they were out on the street, Chuck noticed the passing people immediately turn to them. It was the sight of Blair, not him, that sent tongues wagging. His presence merely stoked the flames. Some people pointed to them, and he was disgusted by the lack of courtesy. He never experienced the same in England, and he had been as scandalous as they came. He realized then that it was the title.

He could just hear Jack, through the haze of his irritation, telling him he could not bear life without his title.

To her credit, Blair trudged forward apparently unfazed by the people pointing to her and talking about her. She had gotten used to it, he realized. Gotten used to the disrespect. Knowing her for so short a time, and feeling nothing but the expected attraction to her body, even he was offended for her.

"Blair," he said, "how can you live like this?"

When her eyes flickered to his, he saw, finally, that she was not fine with it, had not gotten used to it. "I can't," she said. "I have to."

She needed to marry up, needed to get out of New York, needed something, someone, so spectacular a prize that no one would dare throw a stone at her ever again.

He was going to inherit an earldom.

"Maybe if we find a way to get Jack," she said tentatively.

She was going to cross the cobblestone street. Chuck placed his hand on the small of her back as they continued walking.

"We'll make them stop," he assured her.

"Thank you so much for doing this!"

"My pleasure," he assured her.

"You don't have to worry about your lord," she assured Chuck. "I think can make him happy."

Chuck sighed. "Will you be happy?" he asked.

Blair released his hand, then pushed her hair behind her ear. "We're living hand to mouth. None of our old family friends respect us anymore. I have no prospects here," she told Chuck. "This will make my mom happy."

"And you?"

"If my mom's happy, if I can pay her back for keeping us afloat after my dad died, then sure, Chuck," she whispered, "I'll be happy."

He cleared his throat, and asked the question he had been afraid she would answer. "And this Nate, Blair? Do you want him?"

She shook her head. "Nate is not an option."

"Because of your mom? Because he has no money?"

They stopped in front of an old building. "I last saw Nate Archibald when I was fifteen years old. I have no idea if I will want him." Blair turned and looked up at the building. Chuck glanced up and saw the plate. "This is my stop."

"A printing press?" he asked in confusion.

"How do you think we survive, Chuck?"

"You work?" he clarified, dumbfounded.

"Hush." She looked around them. "Every one of the people around you think I come here to read books on bargain."

Chuck's gaze rose to the second floor, where another establishment seemed to be located. He moved to step in, but she stopped him with a hand on his chest. "

"You can't. It's a private establishment."

His heart thundered in his chest. "Blair—"

"I need to earn a living, Chuck." She patted his chest. "You're a good friend. Don't worry about me. I know what I'm doing."

A man, in a long coat and holding a cigar in his hand, slid into the doorway, brushing close behind Blair. "Mr Bradford," Blair greeted.

"Blair Waldorf," Mr Bardford grunted. The old man squeezed Blair's upper arm. "Come up soon before too many people see you." Chuck gritted his teeth at the familiarity of the gesture.

"Yes sir," she answered.

"And Blair?"

"Mr Bradford?"

"Mr Franklin sent a thick envelope upstairs addressed to you."

Chuck saw her eyes sparkle, and despaired over the excitement she had over something so simple. "I will be right there, sir." She waited for the older man to climb up the stairs, then turned to Chuck again. "Let me know when we can plan more."

"This is dangerous, Blair," Chuck said furiously.

She blinked at him. Her jaw dropped. "You don't know what's going on here."

"I can guess!" he exclaimed.

She worried her lower lip. "You can't know," she said urgently. "If anyone else finds out, I will be in such trouble."

"That's why I'm telling you," he pointed out. "This is dangerous."

Old lecher probably threatened her, he thought. He felt his blood pumping heavily in his veins. He was not born yesterday, and supposed he had been to many establishments like the one she was going to subject herself to. Chuck looked up again, and found it odd that she would work while it was daylight, that they even had people coming in at daylight.

Colonials.

Such barbarians.

"I'm coming back for you," he told her.

She nodded. "I don't get off until four."

Bloody bastards. It was half past ten and they were going to keep her for almost six hours. "They're going to exhaust you," he said in disbelief.

"No job is easy," she told him. "Please don't tell Jack about this, Chuck."

"I won't."

She smiled in relief, then leaned forward and placed a kiss on his cheek. "You're a good friend." Blair turned towards the stairs.

Chuck set his jaw, then his hand flew and he gripped her elbow. "Don't go up there."

She shook her head, then brought his hand down. "This is what it's like for us, Chuck. We weren't born rich. Sometimes, you have to make choices."

"Like this?"

"We have to take a stand."

Chuck forced himself to walk away from the old building. He was going to have nightmares. He just knew it. He stormed back into the hotel and flung open the door to Jack's room. He found his uncle sitting on the bed with a glass of scotch in his hand.

"Chuck," Jack greeted, wincing. "Careful with the noise. My head is still killing me."

Chuck nodded towards the glass.

"Fight fire with fire," Jack pointed out.

"Your logic astounds me." Chuck walked over to the table and poured himself a glass. He tipped some of the scotch down his throat. "I have a question for you."

"Ask."

"Do you plan to wed her at all?"

Jack furrowed his brows. "Who?"

Chuck's jaw twitched. "Who else? Blair Waldorf."

His uncle's lips curved knowingly. "Who else indeed? Blair Waldorf has nothing. I have very little. I would marry up." Jack threw his blanket aside, then stood to refill his glass. "But as I said, I wouldn't mind some of that."

Chuck glowered at his uncle, then glared at the liquid in his glass.

"You want her," Jack repeated his claim from the night before. "No shame in it. She has a very fuckable ass."

"Sod off, Jack."

Jack leaned close to his nephew's ear. "You don't even have to lose our bet, if that's what you're concerned about. I told you, Chuck. I've seen her. She'd spread her legs for you."

Chuck pushed his uncle's shoulder. "Tell Eleanor you're not going to marry Blair. Let her know so they don't hold on to the idea."

"Want her so much?" Jack asked. "Fuck her then go home," he suggested. "Give them a few hundred pounds and they'd be fine. Then you can leave the girl to a grand career here in New York. I'm willing to bet she's going to end up earning more than if she married some landowner."

"She's a friend," Chuck insisted. "And I would ask you not to talk about her like that. She's come to some bad times."

"I'll keep her gainfully employed once they've spent your money. Maybe I'll even visit her once a month," Jack offered.

His fist itched to meet his uncle's jaw, but Jack was no so drunk right then not to notice if Chuck hit him. Chuck stalked out of the room and set up camp in the small bookshop across the old building that Blair entered. A few hours afterwards, he moved to the restaurant next door, and glared at the building.

Those old geezers probably made her dance for them, hike up her skirts to show them some leg. He could not believe she would stoop so low for some cash. But perhaps he just did not know how difficult it was to live without it.

"What did they ever do to you?"

Chuck looked up in surprise, then relaxed at the sight of the curly haired waitress who placed his food in front of him. "I beg your pardon?"

The girl's eyes cleared upon hearing him. "You're British."

"What of it?" he asked.

"Vanessa," she offered. The waitress shrugged. "I was wondering what bone it was you had to pick with the newspaper. But your accent answered me. They do print a great many outrageous cartoons and essays about England."

It's dangerous.

I know.

Chuck almost burst out crying in his relief.

"Sooner or later, there will be an insurgence, and it would be because of people like them."

She wasn't whoring, hadn't been pushed into giving up her soul to those men coming in and out of the building. He was suddenly embarrassed of everything he suspected.

"My friend Daniel works there too. Passionate but foolish. I say, stay away from politics if you want to survive."

Chuck grinned, then turned to Vanessa. "What time is it?"

"A quarter before four."

Chuck stuck his hand in his pocket, and took out his money clip. He left a bill, that he was certain more than covered his bill. He handed it to Vanessa. "Thank you."

The girl sputtered at the amout. "We don't have change for this."

"Keep it. You gave me the best news."

Chuck jogged across the street and waited outside the building. He shifted from one foot to the other, waiting impatiently. Finally, he heard the noises from the stairs, and saw the men filing out. Mr Bradford headed out, and Chuck nodded to the man. The man recognized him, and tipped his hat to Chuck. Chuck was careful not to talk, just so that the men would not turn hostile against him.

He heard the laughter, and was delighted to recognize it as Blair's. He saw her walk down the stairs with a young man about their age.

"Chuck!" Blair greeted once she spotted him. "You made it." He nodded, then extended his hand to her. She reached for it, then turned to the young man with her. "Daniel, this is Chuck. Chuck, Daniel."

Chuck shook Dan's hand. Dan said, "Daniel Humphrey."

"Vanessa's friend," Chuck said.

Dan seemed taken aback by the way Chuck spoke. He arched an eyebrow at Blair.

"He's Lord Jack's secretary."

That seemed to have calmed Daniel's ire. Apparently, the anti-British sentiments of the publication did not extend to the commoners. "You've met my friend, then," Daniel said. "Chuck. Mr?"

Blair's eyes widened. "That's right. I haven't asked for your last name."

"Chuck Ba—" he paused. "Bartholomew."

"Mr Bartholomew."

Chuck nodded. "Are you exhausted?"

Blair nodded. "Very. I poured through tons of papers from Pennsylvania."

And it made sense now that Vanessa had spilled. Then envelope she had received earlier was not filled with money for a special night. "From Mr Ben Franklin."

"They were intelligent and stirring," she answered. "We are blessed to have articles from someone so great."

One whole day pouring through words lashing out against him and his kind. At least she had not been doing what he first suspected she was doing.

"Let me buy you dinner, and then I'll walk you home," he offered. Chuck turned to Daniel, and reluctantly offered, "Please join us."

"I'll join you towards the restaurant. I need to walk my friend home."

"Let me buy dinner for all four of us."

Blair frowned. "Can you afford it?"

Daniel looked at him with suspicion. Chuck cursed, and promised himself not to do anything out of instinct. "No, thank you. Working folks like us need to keep our little money close. You and Blair go ahead."

Blair studied him, then shook her head. "We'll each pay for our own plate."

"I invited you," he insisted. "I can cover it."

She turned to cross the street, and Chuck fell into step beside her and placed his hand on the small of her back again. "Don't be stubborn," she insisted. "Save your money for a rainy day. You might soon need it to go home."

"You think war would come soon?"

She nodded. "I can smell it in the air."

tbc


	5. Chapter 5

**Part 5**

She had been reluctant to go to Serena's brunch when her best friend invited her. After all, they were still at odds after Blair's discovery that Serena van der Woodsen had known all along why her father was murdered. Her very best friend knew and had kept it from her. Even when Blair confronted her, Serena had kept it from her. Serena was a liar, a grand liar, and Blair hated it.

Her mother, of course, learned about Serena's invitation and forced her to go.

"We have so few ins into the inner circle, Blair. Do not be so arrogant as to refuse the van der Woodsen girl."

"But mother," Blair protested, "she lied to me."

Eleanor had fanned herself, and told her daughter, "You will break my heart, Blair." The older woman sniffled. "I would hate to know you have no friends at all."

Blair counted Daniel Humphrey, Serena's reject, as a friend. They shared the same need to earn money, which brought them to discover a shared passion for one thing that Blair had never truly thought about before—America. Days of working for the small change that the newspaper provided them turned into months of dedication and fervor that needed to be hidden. Sometimes she wanted to tell her best friend about the nobility she had found in Daniel, but always she heard the caution that had been drilled into their heads when she and Daniel first started working.

No one must know. The lives of the whole movement depended on their silence.

And so no one ever knew what she did, that she knew Daniel, that she was more than a poverty-stricken girl reading books for free.

No one knew—no one until Chuck Bass.

And oddly enough, despite his speech, despite where he was from, she was unafraid that he knew.

Over the days as she met with Chuck Bartholomew in the streets, when he would walk with her to the newspaper, which was coincidentally enough along the way of the errands Lord Jack sent him off to every day, she had grown somewhat fond of the secretary. He had a way about him that made her forget how very awful her life had turned out to be. For his part, he would regale her with stories of how he would slip a comment to Lord Jack about her, about how very suitable she would be to become his wife. And then Chuck would tell her about England, and the Bass estate, and the handsome Arabians in the earl's stables.

One day when Eleanor was off visiting with Lily van der Woodsen she allowed him inside the house, so they could scheme through a humble dinner that Dorota had prepared. The maid had become rather used to him too. She was unfriendly still, always with a suspicious frown, but she did not glare at him too often anymore. Blair had excused herself, because the hard day's work was stifling and she had been itchy. She had taken a quick bath and returned to him with her hair still damp and clinging to her back.

"You look like one of our wet Arabians."

"Are you comparing me to a horse?"

His smirk grew, but he corrected himself, "Aye. To the rarest, most expensive ones that big bad Bart Bass owns."

By the time she arrived at Serena's she was surprised to find that their brunch had been disrupted by the presence of Lord Jack and her friend Chuck. Chuck's eyes met hers at once, and Blair nodded with a smile. To her shock, Chuck glanced at Lord Jack and then looked at her once before turning away. Blair stepped forward to Lord Jack. After what Chuck had told her about how he had primed Jack to the idea of marrying her, he should be warm. Instead, Lord Jack moved away and headed to her friend.

Blair narrowed her eyes and stomped over to Chuck. "Have you been helping me at all?" she hissed.

Again, that look at the lord. Perhaps Jack had admonished him for being away from his tasks. Chuck had been staying with her for most days when he was supposed to be assisting Jack in this new place. "It's not my responsibility to get you married off," he snapped at her. He had no call to be so rude.

Her jaw dropped in surprise. All along, helping her win Jack had been the plan. "I cannot believe you would change your mind on me just like this!" she gasped. "I counted on you!"

"I did not go to America to be following you around."

"I never asked you to do so," she argued in her harsh whisper.

"And you cannot order me about as if I were your employee."

Blair blinked. "All I asked was for this one thing, and you agreed to help me—"

Chuck scowled. "And who do you think you are to demand favors from me?" he parried. "You are worth next to nothing."

Blair straightened and she hit him right across the face with a resounding slap. "And what are you?"

At that, Serena hurried over quickly to her friend's side. Blair allowed Serena to pull her away from shock, but not without one last look of disappointment to the young man she had trusted. It was surprising, that change. There had been no warning. Only the day before they had spent time together looking through her father's old books, choosing those that she could sell. Books were expensive and worth much in New York, and she was certain she could turn a pretty penny for Harold's books. Perhaps she would not need to worry about food for the household for a week.

He had carted off the books she had selected tearfully. One, which she had leafed through and smelled one last time, was particularly difficult to part with. Yet she knew it would fetch a nice price and gave in to Chuck's offer to sell them for her. Within an hour he had returned with a small pouch of coins, and Blair had been so grateful she had thrown her arms around him and kissed his chin.

This man who stood in Serena's parlor was far different from her good friend.

Blair suffered the meal in silence. When someone offered her tea, she had thrust up her chin and said the one thing she knew would arouse suspicion, but she was so angry by the arrogant Brit that she did not care. "I would rather spit out the vile concoction," she said, turning up her nose at hot liquid. "Give me good old American coffee any day."

She noticed Chuck's jaw twitch, and she dared him with her eyes to reveal to the small party what she had been doing in the time she had to spare. Serena's maid hurriedly brought back some coffee from the kitchen, and Blair thanked the woman.

"Well, Serena, would you like to tell everyone our good news?" inquired Lord Jack.

Blair sipped her coffee, and smelled the heady aroma, before placing the cup gingerly down. She looked at her best friend, who seemed appalled at having been placed in such situation.

"There is nothing final, my lord. My mother—"

"Would be fully supportive, I assure you."

Blair turned to Jack, and asked, "Well, what is it, my lord?"

Chuck seemed to know, but she dared not look at the bastard. He was no friend of hers to turn so cold and cruel with absolutely no reason at all. She picked up her teaspoon and stirred her coffee. "My lord," she heard Chuck say, "perhaps we should wait until Mrs van der Woodsen is here."

"Nonsense," Jack exclaimed, shrugging. "I am proud to say I have requested for Miss van der Woodsen's hand in marriage."

Blair's teaspoon clattered to the table. Her eyes slammed to her best friend. "What?" she managed weakly.

"Blair—"

"Is this why you invited me here?" Blair demanded from Serena, her eyes tearful.

"No!"

Blair pushed her chair back. "I don't believe you."

"Blair, no! I would have never—"

But Blair had gathered herself up stiffly, and started to walk away from the table. She felt Chuck's eyes on her, but unlike the night of the party, when they had first arrived, he allowed her to leave without following her. Her eyesight was blurry with her tears. She blindly made her way to the front door, and threw it open to find her way blocked by two silhouettes.

Behind her there was noise, and she assumed the three insensitive people had made their way to the door as well. Blair brushed the tears from her eyes, and when her vision cleared, she was looking down at two vaguely familiar faces.

"Miss Waldorf."

She swallowed, then frowned. "Do I know you?" she rasped.

"Blair," one of the new arrivals greeted. Blair looked at him, and she found herself staring into the most handsome man she had ever seen. He was an archangel come from heaven above, sent to this vile, vile world to save her. "Is that you?"

Slowly, she found herself nodding. Before she could open her mouth, he was on her, surrounding her with warm, hard arms, and she wanted to curl up against his chest. For the first time since her father died, she was safe, protected.

And it was all because of a stranger, her archangel. She let her eyes close, and she leaned against the young man in question.

"I missed you, Blair."

"Well, I could not have hoped for a better reunion," said the older man still out side the door.

Blair remembered the manners she no longer had any opportunity to practice. She opened her eyes and reluctantly pulled away from the warm embrace of her archangel. He was beaming down at her, and she belatedly realized that the young man thought all along her show of affection was because she remembered him.

"Please come in," she said, stepping aside.

Serena took the opportunity to step forward and greet the archangel with a quick hug, and Blair was smugly satisfied that the stranger did not hold Serena as closely, as long, as he held her. Her best friend shook the hand of the older gentleman, then turned to Blair.

"B, this is why I asked you to come. Mr Vanderbilt specifically requested to see you again."

Blair blinked, and focused on the older gentleman. She had met Mr Vanderbilt only once. Her father had a case to try, and he had looked through volumes and volumes in the Archibald family library, before the Captain had caused the collapse of their fortune. Mr Vanderbilt had been smoking a pipe in his daughter's house when she was led there by Dorota.

"There's that special girl," Mr Vanderbilt greeted her.

Blair's lips parted as she turned back to her archangel. "Nathaniel," she recognized. She shook her head, taking in the fine clothes he wore, the nice shoes, the healthy glow of his face. If this was what scandal and poverty did to one, she should be in far better condition than her drab clothes and thinly soled sandals. Blair wagered her stockings had a hole in them. "I thought you were—"

Nathaniel shook his head. He took her hand, and brought it to his lips. "My grandfather saved me. The Vanderbilt name and fortune saved me."

Blair suddenly wished she had a fortune on her mother's side, and that not everything had been taken away along with her father. "You are very fortunate, Nathaniel."

She was happy for Nathaniel. Truly. She hardly remembered him, but she knew they had been fond of each other before his escape to France. Yet instead of showing Nathaniel how happy she was, her eyes kept drifting back to the dark-haired young man who stood ways behind Nathaniel, glaring at the newcomer. He looked like the devil. Dorota was right. He had never looked more a devil than now that she could see him right next to an archangel.

Mr Vanderbilt's smile grew. The old man had been fond of Blair since meeting her that time in the Archibald house. While her father spent the whole day studying in the library, Blair had been left to paint with Nathaniel, and to play the piano for the old man.

"I so missed having you play for me," Mr Vanderbilt told her. "You should come by the house and play for me. Auld Lang Syne was one you played so well."

Blair clasped her hands in front of her, then remembered how long it had been since she had touched keys. "I haven't had practice. We—we sold our piano."

"Well, feel free to practice on ours anytime."

"That would be unseemly," came Chuck's voice from behind Nathaniel. Blair turned to him, because he suddenly had a voice. He had been far too quiet the entire time. "You cannot expect a maid to come visiting your house alone."

Mr Vanderbilt turned to look at Chuck. "Boy," he began, and Blair immediately saw the way Chuck's back stiffened in offense, "there are many things at work. You shall find out. There is no need to be concerned of what is proper."

Blair did not mind. She had no reputation to protect after all. And she truly wanted to play the piano. Her father played so well, and when she played, she remembered him.

Nathaniel Archibald would offer her a piano to play on, and he was already making a dream come true.

She shook her head. "You should know—before you invite me into your home—" she said tentatively, "how very unwise it is." She licked her lips, searching for words to convey all that had happened. "Nathaniel—"

Her archangel's hand tightened around hers. "We know, Blair. And I've come back for you."

She sucked in her breath, in, out. The hair on her arms stood. "Nate—"

Blair saw Serena from the corner of her eye, and her best friend looked tearful, genuinely happy. She had predicted it after all. Nate Archibald would come back for Blair. But neither of them expected that he would come back rich. Eleanor would be ecstatic.

Lord Jack, the flighty indecisive pansy, seemed uninterested with the events. Instead, he walked about assessing the furnishing of the van der Woodsen home, as if calculating how much each piece hanging from the walls was worth.

Mr Vanderbilt looked at his grandson and the girl fondly.

"You two shall marry," Mr Vanderbilt proclaimed.

Blair's eyes widened. Nathaniel's smile grew. Serena applauded.

Chuck. Chuck was—

Blair turned her gaze away from Nate and turned to the space where Chuck had been standing. It was now empty, abandoned. She turned back to Nate. Rejected by a lord who seemed to be assessing Serena's worth; denied by one she had really believed had become a trusted friend.

And now this. All her dreams come true. All in one day.

Nathaniel produced from his pocket a lovely ring, encrusted a bulbous gold grown with countless sparkling diamonds. She had seen it before, heard the women of New York whisper about it. It was legendary.

"The Vanderbilt diamond."

It would make her mother so happy.

"Yes!" she cried.

Blair spread her hand and eagerly giggled as Nate slipped the ring on her finger. "There!" Nate said, nodding in satisfaction. "It looks perfect on you."

"It does!" she agreed. For at least a year, through this ring, Eleanor would stop crying for what was lost.

And then Nathaniel bent to place a kiss on her cheek. "I shall call on you tonight, and meet your mother."

She threw her arms around Nate's grandfather. The old man was the answer to all her problems. Suddenly, weight had been lifted off her shoulders. When she married into the Vanderbilt clan, her mother would never have to worry again. She would be able to mend her clothes, buy at least two new dresses. Maybe she could even purchase shoes from what she made at the newspaper, instead of worrying about having to stretch it until the next day.

When Nate and his grandfather had left, Blair squealed and ran to Serena. Their earlier spat had been forgotten.

"I'm getting married!" Blair cried.

Serena laughed with joy. "I am so happy, B." The blonde turned to Lord Jack. "What's happened to your secretary?"

Lord Jack grinned. "He has taken the night off. Out carousing will be the best likelihood." He turned to Blair and extended a hand. Blair placed hers in his for his congratulations. Jack bent and pressed his lips on the back of her hand. Apart from his moist lips, she felt the quick darting of a hot tongue. Blair drew her hand away quickly. "Pity you would be plucked out of the bucket of brides. I had always thought you would be delightful."

Blair turned to Serena in dismay. Serena turned to her new fiancé with a grimace. "Go home, Lord Jack. I will speak to my mother about your proposal. But please do not close your doors to other possibilities. America is full of women who would adore you."

Jack shrugged, not offended in the very least. He turned to Blair and winked. "Pity about the Vanderbilt heir. Had you not agreed to marry him, you would have been my second choice."

Blair was appalled at the suggestion. She was doubly thankful Nathaniel had returned for her.

It was almost ten. It was almost time to work. She realized that soon, she would not need to work to earn a living. Gone were the days when she slaved to survive. Soon, she would be working because she wanted to.

Blair left Serena's and made her way to the newspaper office. She slipped inside the door of the lower level and glanced outside. She paused when he noticed Chuck standing across the street, looking at her, as if he had been waiting to see her arrive. When she looked again, he was already walking away. Blair shrugged it off as coincidence. Once more, the newspaper was on the way of his own business.

She entered the newspaper office and stopped stock still at the doorway.

There, right in the middle, was Mr Vanderbilt.

"Blair, have you met the man who had been funding our small movement?" asked Mr Bradford.

Blair slowly nodded her head.

Mr Vanderbilt smiled in encouragement. "You are looking at the newest addition to my family, Bradford," the older man informed her editor. "Blair has agreed to marry Nate. Our plan, Blair, is to gain entry to the house of one of the Patriot leaders we have long suspected of being loyal to England."

"Wait. What do you mean by 'plan'?"

"I need you to marry my grandson to gain you access to that circle that you are no longer part of," Mr Vanderbilt told her. "And Nate needs to marry you because even if he gets in, he would not know how to operate. I told you once, when you were a child, how very special you are."

She had painted a picture of fields, and seas, and people holding hands. She had been five. It was not special at all. It had been trite.

"You show this country how special you are," Mr Vanderbilt told her.

Blair drew a deep breath. "Does Nate know this marriage won't be real?"

Nothing ever turned out the way she wanted.

"It's real to him," said the old man. "Nate doesn't suspect anything."

Blair nodded. For the whole time, she worked, reading, rewriting, reviewing articles that stirred her desire to help. More than anything, they needed to be free from the ties that bound them. Even while she worked on them, she felt the chains around her ankles grow tighter, heavier.

She left the newspaper office earlier than usual. Everyone had still been up there, but she pleaded exhaustion. The thrill of the day, they said, and allowed her to leave.

Blair stepped outside and at that very moment, saw Chuck standing across the street, looking so forlorn. Jack had suspected he had gone carousing, and from the stench of him he had drank considerably. She almost got drunk by his breath alone.

"How dare you drink your guilt away after being such a bastard to me?"

"How dare you," Chuck muttered back.

Blair grimaced with disgust. "You know how weak it makes you look that you need to sink to this?"

Blair spotted Vanessa, Daniel's friend, working in the next establishment. She stumbled over with Chuck heavy across her shoulders.

"Dare you get married for worthless money—" he grumbled.

Blair set her jaw and ignored his last comment. "Please, Vanessa, let us use a spare room. We only need to sober him up."

"There's no 'we.' Sober him up. I have work to do." Blair noticed Vanessa's eyes flicker at Chuck from head to toe. "He probably has lush rooms at the hotel."

Blair found it odd that Vanessa would assume that of the poor secretary. She carted Chuck to the small storage room at the back and dumped him. She then picked up a glass of water from outside, dipped her fingers in them and sprayed some on his face.

"Wake up!"

"Don't want to wake up. So bloody stubborn," he said, almost incoherently.

"You're bloody stubborn!" Blair argued, and she thought she was more insane than he because she was fighting with a man obviously out of his mind.

"Don't marry him."

Blair was startled by the clarity of the statement. She looked down at Chuck. His eyes were closed.

"Marry me instead."

She sucked in her breath. Her heart raced. Her pulse was jumping from her throat. She forced herself to calm down.

"I can't—" She sighed. "You're drunk. You don't know what you're saying."

And then he tugged her down to collapse on top of him. The glass of water in her hand spilled over the two of them, drenching his shirt and the front of her drab dress. Blair struggled to sit up, but he grabbed her upper arms and held him against her, giving her a punishing, bitter, alcohol-soaked kiss. "Ummm—Uggh—" She pulled away, but he kept his lips on hers.

"Chuck, I can't—"

He released her, but instead of sitting up, she lay against him as she caught her breath.

"Because I have no money?"

She didn't answer. He should know it without asking it. They were the same after all. Real world should be considered first before dreams.

"Because I'm poor? What if I told you I'm a hundred times richer than Jack?" he demanded. "Than Nathaniel Archibald? Is that going to make you look at me differently?"

"I don't need to look at you any differently than I do right now." Her hand soothed his chest, moving in circles to calm him down. "You're rich in a lot of other ways," she told him. "But not in the way that can help me. I'm sorry."

Blair pulled herself up to sit, and looked down at him with brimming eyes. And then, she leaned down and captured his lips for a kiss. Blair rose and fled from the storage room.

tbc


	6. Chapter 6

**Part 6**

Carter Baizen. Son of Abram Baizen, leader of the loud liberty movement in Boston. Privileged, educated, promising.

Mr Vanderbilt spoke in a low, hushed tone, and she suspected that not everyone from the newspaper was privy to the information that Nate's grandfather shared with her. She crumpled the skirt of her dress in her fist.

"He's back in America after spending the last four years in England. The man moved around in George's circle," Mr Vanderbilt said. "I have absolutely no doubt that he's come as eyes and ears."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Nathaniel will take you to Boston and you will attend the gathering in his house. You will find out why he's suddenly come back. His father is a notable supporter of the movement, Blair. We need to know if we can trust the elder Baizen, or if the son has influenced his father. We have no need for traitors," Mr Vanderbilt finished coldly.

"How do you expect me to find out all of these?"

The older man placed a hand on her shoulder, then squeezed in encouragement. "Your father was a brilliant man," he said in recollection, fondly smiling. "Your mother was just a little devious. And I know how passionate you are about our cause. I know you will do everything possible, Blair."

"What will happen if I find that he is loyal to Britain?"

"If the young Baizen is a traitor, we will contain that treason before it infects an entire family."

"Contain the treason?"

"We will ask Abram to make the sacrifice for his nation."

She swallowed at the implication. "And if the elder Baizen knows of his son's inclination?"

"We will be at war, Blair. War is not a beautiful painting. Often it is a landscape littered with fallen, bloody bodies of people who used to be your friends." He paused. "We have men on location who will destroy the Baizen home. The entire family will be dealt with."

She hesitated, raised her eyes to the older gentleman.

"You have second thoughts?"

Blair licked her lips. Her heart was wildly thundering in her ears. "There's one thing I need," she tried.

He older man sat on the table, his light blue Vanderbilt eyes intent on her. "Once you're married to Nathaniel, you will have free reign over Nathaniel's inheritance. Your mother will can move into the Archibald residence or we can arrange for an allowance for her."

It was a generous offer, and would have been her only wish for her mother. But she had could work for that. It would not be as comfortable a life as her mother was used to, yet this was her only chance. "I want to know why my father was murdered," she told him.

Mr Vanderbilt sighed. He scratched his chin. "What do you plan to do with this knowledge, Blair?"

"Are you afraid I would want to exact revenge?" she said softly with a small smile.

"Then what's the point?" he asked. "I tell you now that it will hurt you, Blair."

She hung her head. No one wanted her to know, as if she was a little girl who could do nothing, understand nothing, accept nothing. Funny enough for a little girl who had just been asked to determine the fate of an entire family.

"Tell me, or I walk away."

Mr Vanderbilt glanced at the door. He walked over and shut it. Then, he turned to Blair. "I shudder to think of soiling your ears with this."

"Please, Mr Vanderbilt," she whispered aloud. "This has destroyed my life, and I need to know why it's happened."

Once she had been the toast of New York, and she had led the life of a princess. She was a prospect, and she had chosen not to wed any of the dozens of young men that had vied for her hand. And now, this was what she was. Her family's reputation had been ruined, and she had to force herself to forget her fantasies of love and romance.

She would marry Nathaniel, no doubt about it. And she would tell herself it was because he was stable, and marrying him was for the good of the cause that had been her only reason for waking when she had lost everything else. In truth, she would marry Nate, try her hardest to forget the stirring she felt from the very first time she kissed Lord Jack's secretary, because it would solve all of her problems.

"Your father is dear to my heart," said Mr Vanderbilt.

Blair nodded. She knew it well, and recognized the tenderness in the older man's voice when he recalled Harold Waldorf. They had free reign over his house, and it was one of the reasons that Blair became close to Nathaniel. There were times when her father would leave her there to discuss business with Mr Vanderbilt as well.

"People are afraid of that which they do not understand," said the man slowly. Blair blinked up at him, knowing that finally, after being blind to one of the most life-changing events to happen in her eighteen years, she would find out why her father was so brutally shot down. "My only son and heir Roman was fond of your father too. In fact, Blair, Harold loved Roman as Roman loved him."

The old man's voice cracked as he spoke. His face flushed, and it almost appeared that he could not breathe due to the emotion he fought.

"I am an old man, and Anne and Roman were my pride, my joy—my only memories of my darling wife."

Anne was Nathaniel's mother, a beautiful and proper woman who still spoke fluent French despite her twenty years in the Colonies. She remembered Roman. He had been a handsome man, built well, the exact opposite of how Anne Vanderbilt looked. Whereas Anne took her father's light hair and fair complexion, Roman had been dark-eyed, with hair almost black. Like the old Mrs Vanderbilt.

"He died," Blair recollected.

The Archibalds had already fled, and she heard about the news right after she learned of her own father's murder that it had not registered to her. Mr Vanderbilt appeared tearful and broken. She reached for his hand and squeezed it.

"A man must be buried by his son," he whispered. "Instead I buried mine."

Her voice dropped. "Are you saying my father's death is connected to Roman's?"

"Bloody Redcoats stormed my home to search for documents that would prove that I am behind this insurgence," Mr Vanderbilt recalled. "Harold and Roman were the house. The soldiers happened upon them. Buggers, they called them. Sons of Sodom," Mr Vanderbilt said furiously.

The implication was not lost on Blair. She gasped, took a few steps back and covered her mouth.

"They were hurting no one," Mr Vanderbilt said quietly.

She shook her head, and now tears fell from her eyes. "No. You are a liar."

But it was his son, and there was no reason to lie about a sin so great her father must certainly be burning in hell.

Not her father. Her father had shown her stars, taught her that sunflowers followed the sun no matter how much they had to twist and bend and suffer.

Sunflowers turn to the sun. Because the sun was their love, and you twisted, and bent, and suffered for love.

She crumpled to the floor and covered her face, sobbed out loud at images bombarding her, of the cold cheek her mother turned to her father when Harold stood up from the dinner table and talked of visiting with the Vanderbilts. She remembered the way that Harold would sit her on his knee, and point to the sky and would tell her that always always always the stars were there, even if the night was pitch black.

He was living in a pitch black night.

"Roman was a powerful force behind this insurgence, Blair."

She turned her tear-stricken face to the old man.

"It would have been easy to let them stand trial," said Mr Vanderbilt. "Instead they dragged them to the streets, half-clothed. They murdered my son. There was no chance for defense, no time to call for help, no opportunity to pass on the plans to the movement."

No goodbye, she thought instead.

"My father was killed for—"

Mr Vanderbilt cut her off. "Your father was killed because of this war. They found a perfect reason to hide behind in what he and Roman shared."

"Their sins."

"I was able to protect my son even in his death. Everyone believes he was killed by the British soldiers for his known involvement in the fight for liberty." He shook his head. "Harold was unfortunate. He was killed while he was running away, down at Main late at night, away from the scene."

How Mr Vanderbilt could seem so accepting of Roman's choice was behind her. The Frenchman had to feel at least unsettled, because she was shattered.

"As the sunflower turns to her God when he sets the same look that she turned when he rose," she murmured softly, remembering the song her father had taught her.

Mr Vanderbilt nodded. "Harold's shared the song to you. It's the song that my wife taught Roman when we found him different. The same look, Blair… the same love… whether he is rising or setting… whatever changes. The same love from the sunflower for the sun."

She took a deep breath, holding the firm, intent gaze of the old man. Her broken heart seemed rose, seemed to slowly piece itself back together through the way the man looked at her.

"Do this," he said firmly.

Slowly, she found herself nodding. Blair rose to her feet. "I need to go home to my mother," she whispered.

Mr Vanderbilt agreed. "Will you tell her that you know?"

She shook her head. "But I will wrap my arms around her and hold her tight."

Blair descended from the newspaper office and wiped the tears from her cheeks. She took deep steadying breaths as she walked down the street. When she passed by the alley, she felt someone grasp her wrist and pull her in. Blair cried out and pushed away, glimpsed Chuck, and then relaxed. She allowed him to pull her close. He wrapped his arms around her and slanted his lips over hers.

Blair's hands rose to bury themselves in his hair. She pulled his head down and returned his kiss.

He seemed surprised at her response, but took advantage of it. Chuck moved quickly to push her back against the alley. Blair gasped against his mouth. When he pressed his knee between hers, she parted her legs to accommodate him. One of his hands moved down to bunch her skirt around her waist. Blair pushed her hips toward him. His other hand moved to cup her cheek.

And then he froze.

He lifted himself off her. Blair felt the wooden boards of the building behind her rough against her back. She blinked up at Chuck, wondered why he suddenly stopped.

She had lost herself in him. And she needed to so much.

He was looking down at his wet fingers and she realized he had touched the tear tracks on her cheeks.

"I'm sorry," he said harshly. She shook her head, grasped at his shirt and pulled him to cover her body with his. He furrowed his brows. Blair arched up to meet his lips. Chuck turned his head. "Then are you crying?"

"It's not you," she whispered.

"If it's not me, then who?" he demanded. "Did Nathaniel do anything to you? I'll kill him."

Blair tried to press herself even more against him. When he did not lunge at her, she leaned her head back and sighed. "He is made of money, and the Archibald name has become reputable once again. No one will defend you if you murder him."

"Did he make you cry?" Chuck demanded.

She shook her head. "He is a gentleman, Chuck." Blair remembered her mission, and what she had promised Mr Vanderbilt. "He will make a very good husband."

"You cannot marry him." He looked down at her, with her bruised lips and her mussed clothes, her heaving breasts. "Not when your blood runs hot for me."

"There are many things at stake," she told him.

Chuck gritted his teeth. "I must travel this once. I have business to attend to for Jack." He would give the blasted Virginia lands to Jack, run to a dear friend in Boston, and then he would come and take her away from here. Everywhere he turned, he could smell the stench of war. She was no going to get caught in it, movement or not. "Wait for me," he told her. "I will return for you, and we will run away together."

Blair swallowed.

"Promise me."

She opened her mouth, then choked on the words. Instead, she shook her head. Chuck's shoulders fell. He turned to leave. Just before he stepped back on onto the street, into the sunlight, she called his name. He turned around, and she flew into his arms. She pulled him down for a kiss, stumbled backwards, taking him along with her.

"Blair," he said, running his thumb over her cheek, "will you wait for me?" He drew a deep breath. "I l—"

She hushed him with a finger on his lips. "Don't waste the words on me. I don't deserve them." She would marry another man, after all. She would serve her country.

There. It was sufficient response to his question.

tbc


	7. Chapter 7

**Part 7**

"Everywhere I turn there are these bloody Patriots milling about," came the quiet voice of the man that Chuck had come to meet.

Chuck accepted the glass of scotch and took a swallow of the liquid. He sucked in his breath at the way that the potent liquid burned its way down his throat.

"Did you miss good quality scotch like that, Bass?"

Chuck raised his lashes and took in the figure of his friend Carter as the man leaned against the window of his father's study. "Good quality scotch; fine noble ladies who inside are truly whores," he affirmed, sliding easily into what was natural to him. It was easy to allow the man he had been forcing himself to be here in America to slip away. This, who he was in London, was so easy, so carefree.

It had none of the challenges he faced when pretending to be less than he was.

Or more than he was.

"Georgie's been missing you."

Chuck scowled at the reminder. "I did not come to you today for news on Georgina Sparks."

Carter nodded. He walked over to the desk and took a rolled up letter then handed it to Chuck. Chuck muttered his thanks, and looked down at the letter in his hand. He eyed the seal of the earl, then broke the wax. He unrolled the letter and skimmed through the contents until he realized what it was that he was reading.

"There is a chair to your right," offered Carter.

Chuck's gaze flew up to his friend. So he knew. Of course he knew. News such as this did not escape the ears of any member of the ton. He fell into the chair and read through the letter once more, slowly.

"You must go home, my lord," Carter suggested. "If you tarry here longer, you might be too late."

Chuck folded the letter and slid it into his coat pocket. "I must," he agreed. Running away from England, from his scandal, from the binds and limitations that Society imposed had been the answer once. "How is he?"

"Nearing the end. You would not forgive yourself if you were not there."

Chuck released a sigh, then looked up at his friend. He nodded. "I will." First, he needed to go back to Manhattan. To hell with the wager. He would shout from the rooftops that he was Lord Charles Bass, and that no man could compare to him in wealth and stature. He would come to Blair and convince her to leave with him. "And you, Baizen? What will you do?"

Carter walked over to Chuck and took the glass from him. "Another one?" he offered. Chuck shook his head. Carter poured himself a fresh glass. "My father is unwilling to see the truth. I fear we will find ourselves on opposite sides of the ocean when this all erupts."

"Leave with us," Chuck told Carter. "You will not be safe here."

Carter nodded. "I might do that. I'll take care of the passage and let you know when to go to the docks."

Chuck shook his head. "I need passage from New York."

"Jack?"

For this moment, at least, Chuck managed a small smile. "No."

Chuck saw the moment that Carter realized what he meant, because the man's eyes cleared and he grinned. "A lady then."

"Aye. A lady who deserves better than all this."

"An American?" Chuck nodded. Carter chuckled. "You do know that little Georgie will throw a fit. You have already delayed your union for too long. The girl has been waiting for you since she started her menses."

Yet already, he could imagine a small ceremony in his mother's garden. He would give her the best, one that would be branded in her memory so clearly than even when they were old and gray, she would recall the day in awe. And Blair Waldorf would never regret leaving a cause so dear to her so that they could be together. He could very well spend his life with her.

"Bass," Carter prompted. "What do we do with Georgie?"

Chuck shook his head. "Georgina is a small problem compared to all others we must settle before sailing home."

"True." Carter placed his glass down and straightened. "I shall speak with my father. And you?"

"Come morning, I shall return to New York and plead with a girl to marry me."

Carter laughed. "You beg for nothing, my friend."

Chuck grinned. "Nothing was ever worth humbling myself for."

He followed closely behind Carter as they left the room. Already there was throng of people in the Baizen home. "Your father certainly throws such grand gatherings," Chuck commented as they descended.

"Aye," Carter agreed. "And yet not once would he take pleasure, or laugh through the night. Neither my mother nor my sisters are here. Do not be mistaken, my lord. This is a political rally if it is any."

People milled about them and eventually gathered into smaller groups involved in intent conversations. The discussions, he heard as he passed by, ranged from taxes on imports to lobbying for representation. His own father would be furious at the dissent.

He needed to go home. See to his father. In any other occasion he would leave everything he had taken with him behind and take the first ship home.

Carter reached for Abram Baizen's arm. The older man turned around and greeted his son warmly. At the sight of Chuck standing beside his son, Abram glowered. There was no mistaking the man's feelings towards the nobleman. Carter excused himself and his father.

Left alone in the crowd, Chuck took in the people surrounding him. The opposition was different here in Boston, more colorful, louder. It had always been a thorn with their grand expressions—from dumping a wealth of tea into the harbor to exchanges of gunfire.

He should retire, he thought. It was plain now that they were here. In school, Baizen would think aloud how best to turn his father from a rebel to a Loyalist. Here, moving in Abram's world, it was easy to see that it was impossible. He saw a blonde head moving through the crowd. He pressed forward and noted Nathaniel Archibald shaking hands with new acquaintances. And then, he presented someone at his side.

Chuck almost stumbled at the sight of Blair Waldorf.

In Boston.

She wore a red dress that bared her shoulders, European in style. He had never seen her in it before and had no doubt it came from Archibald. She herself would not have been able to afford it. Wealth suited her. Wealth clung to the crevices and swells of her body like it belonged there. Her cheeks bloomed at the stimulation of having many people to speak with. He was fascinated with the way her lips moved. Whatever it was they were saying, and Chuck could hazard a guess that it was all about the conflict, she seemed certain, knowledgeable—animated.

This was what he wanted to take her away from.

Nathaniel placed a hand on the small of her back. Chuck could see it in the man's eyes as he looked down at her. Nathaniel Archibald was enthralled by her, was fascinated with what she said. She turned and looked away, then excused herself from the group. Chuck followed her as she slipped to the back and made her way to the servant's stairwell.

She purposefully strode towards the bedrooms on the second floor. Chuck narrowed his eyes as she slipped into one of the bedrooms. He waited outside. When she did not come out, Chuck stepped inside and saw her rifling through a bag. She looked up in shock.

"Chuck!" she exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask the same of you." He looked down at the items littering the bed. They were Carter's. He narrowed his eyes.

She pursed her lips, then walked over to him. She grabbed his arms. "Leave this place," she commanded. "You are not safe here."

"You're going through a man's personal effects, under his own roof," he recounted. "You are the one in peril."

There was the sound of a scuffle, and Chuck hoped it was not the confrontation between Carter and his father. Abram loved his son, but it was always difficult between a father and a son. More difficult, and he would not presume to know, when it was your only son and heir telling you it was the last you would see of him.

All because your loyalties were different.

"Chuck, please leave. I would that you were not caught in this. Did Lord Jack send you to this house? It is irresponsible. You can get hurt here."

She was afraid for him. It was in the tremor of her voice, the way her breath came in shallow pants and the way her eyes kept flying to the door.

"In fact, after all that I have learned tonight, I would that you return to England, Chuck." He cupped her cheek, and held his breath when she nuzzled his palm. "I cannot bear to see you hurt."

"Do you know," he whispered, "that your words are enough to hurt me?"

She blinked, and he could tell that she was holding back her tears. "Better my words than a knife to your gut," she said. "Better my words than a gunshot to your head."

It was the closest she had come to professing her feelings. Chuck laid his forehead against hers. "Come with me. Don't marry Archibald."

"My mother is here," she told him.

"We'll send for her."

"Will you come with me, Blair?" Her eyes glittered as she looked up at him. "Please," he said, his voice breaking.

"I have a part to play in this insurgence," she told him. "My part has not yet begun."

He touched his fingers to her collarbone. Blair held her breath as he traced a line to her jaw. "Will you spend your entire life in a cold bed, huddled in fear of war?"

"I will not hide from it," she told him.

He pressed his lips on hers, and her arms rose to pull him down to her. He kissed his way to her ear, and then whispered, "Blair, meet me at the docks tomorrow morning. Let me take you away."

The door opened, and Blair jumped away from him. Carter stopped at the door. Chuck noted the exhaustion on Carter's face. Blair was flustered as she fixed her dress.

"I—I—" Blair stammered.

Chuck stopped her with a hand on her arm. "We were just leaving."

Carter nodded. He entered the room and saw his belongings rifled through. "So," he said quietly, "who sent you to spy on me?"

Blair stopped stock still, then turned her head to see Carter gathering his personal effects. "I will not say," she responded.

Carter nodded briefly. "I thought as much."

Chuck opened the door for Blair, and led her out. "Tomorrow morning, at five," he told her. "Now go. I'll speak with Carter."

Blair's eyes widened. Her eyes flickered to the Baizen son that she was now more than certain was a Loyalist, then to Chuck. "Who are you?" she whispered.

Chuck nodded towards the stairwell. "Someone who will wait for you. And then you will know everything."

The snow was starting to fall. Blair gathered her cloak about her body as she stood on the dock. She looked up at the black starless sky and saw instead the white flakes floating down to her.

"Sun's beginning to rise, miss," called out the sailor. "We're sailing."

Blair nodded, and looked wistfully after the ship heading for England. She looked towards the east, where indeed the sun was starting to peek. Still, in the shadow of darkness, she waited. It was not until the snow had coated her in an inch of snowdust that she accepted that Chuck Bass was not coming. She stood up and turned around to make her way back to the hotel.

Blair stopped on the wooden planks when she saw Nate standing there, holding a blanket in his arms. She took a deep breath and walked towards him. Blair reached up and brushed the snow from his shoulders.

"Have you been waiting long?" she asked softly.

In response, Nate helped her out of her cloak, then shook the blanket loose. He wrapped it around her. He used his gloved hands to rub warmth into her cheeks. Blair shuddered. He placed his warm lips on her cold, dry, icy mouth. She moaned deep in her throat at the pleasant, warming sensation. Nate wrapped her blanketed body in his arms and drew her close, then pressed his lips on her forehead.

He looked down into her tearful eyes. Nate brushed away one errant tear with his thumb. "My grandfather seems to think I am a clueless boy still," he told her. "But I am more aware than he thinks."

Blair bit her lip, then nodded. "I'm sorry."

Nate placed his arm around her shoulders and pulled her to his side. Blair leaned her head against his shoulder for the warmth, for support. She was tired, cold, sleepy.

Heartbroken.

"It's over now," he said. "He wasn't here."

She dragged her feet along as he led her back to the hotel. On the way, they passed by a small gathering outside of the Baizen home. Blair straightened. "What's happening?" she whispered.

Nate tightened his hold on her as he pulled her away from the scene. "It is rather violent. I saw it all when I came to find you."

"Violent?" she whispered, seeing traces of splattered blood marring the fresh snow outside the house.

"The information that you found in Baizen's room aside," Nate told her, "there was need for immediate action. Mr Abram Baizen himself gave his son up to the movement and revealed that Carter is here to sway him to the English cause."

Blair bolted from Nate's hold and ran towards the small group gathered in front of the Baizen home. She stared down wide-eyed at the blood on the ground. She listened intently to the discussion.

"Dead?"

"By sundown. Old Abram wouldn't let this treason pass."

"Is it treason?"

"Bastard is loyal to England."

"Brought gentry to the house mocking his father."

"Shackled up at the center."

She felt Nate when he walked up behind her. He placed his hands on her waist. "You don't need to be here," Nate told her. "Your part is done. You did it very well."

Blair allowed him to pull her away. They made their way back to their hotel. He helped her slip inside, then stayed behind at the door as she wandered listlessly inside. Blair turned and let the frozen blanket fall to the floor. She then climbed onto the bed and curled up in it.

Nate sighed. "May I come in?" he said.

Blair met his eyes, then gave a brief nod. Nate walked into her room and strode to the fire to light it. Blair felt the small change in the room as Nate fixed the fire. He walked towards the bed and sat down.

"I am recently returned to your life," he told her gently. "I will not ask."

Blair nodded, whispered her thank you. She felt a tear slide from the corner of her eye to drip onto the pillow under her head.

"We are getting married when we return to New York. I am praying there will be nothing to ask about after that."

She closed her eyes and turned her back on him. Nate stood up. She felt his weight off the bed. She heard the door shut close. The moment he left, Blair pulled herself up from the bed and walked towards the window. She studied the street, and the flow of the people. She recognized who were in the Baizen gathering the night before, and paid close attention the path they took.

Within half an hour, she knew exactly where Baizen was.

Blair waited for nightfall. And then, she changed into pair of trousers that Daniel had provided. Blair tied her hair to the nape of her neck, then slipped outside. The snow was thick, and the streets slippery. She stumbled in the darkness, and knew that underneath the pants her legs and knees would be bruised and cut.

Baizen knew where Chuck was. She would find out for certain. The warehouse was locked, and Blair broke through the window. She jumped in, cut her arm on the glass. Two men were tied to the pillar. She fell to her knees in front of Carter.

"Mr Baizen," she called softly.

"Blair?" she heard someone whisper.

Blair gasped, then crawled over to the man tied to the other side. She caught his face in her hands and lifted his head. "Chuck!"

He had been badly beaten, his eyes almost swollen shut. He peered through his swollen eyes. "Get out of here," he whispered through his cracked lips.

There was an odd, selfish triumph in her chest at finding him in such condition. This was why he was not there. He had not abandoned her. "I am not leaving you like this." She drew out a small dagger from her boots and cut through his ropes.

"If they find you here they will kill you."

Blair cut Carter's ropes as well. She helped Chuck up. "Carter, wake up," she said. She winced when she found a steadily bleeding wound at his side. The blood in the snow, she recalled. It was Carter's wound. She pulled him up. "Chuck, help me."

They struggled to drag Carter along with them, slipping from the back in the dead of the night. When they reached the end of the street, Chuck turned to Blair. "Go back to your hotel. They cannot find you with us."

"I will not leave you wounded," she told Chuck.

Chuck scowled. "I'm not on your side in this war, Blair. This is treason for you."

"I don't care. I will fight for this country, but not at your expense."

Carter regained consciousness due to the biting cold wind. "A mile from here, down this path," he told his friend. "There is an abandoned barn that we can use for shelter. They will not find it. It was an old family barn."

"Your father will know it," she bit out.

"He will not reveal the place," Carter said, his voice firm.

"He gave you up," Blair argued.

"It was in the heat of the moment," Carter said, still defending Abram's role in their capture. "He will not do it twice."

Blair looked behind them, then nodded at Chuck. "Let's go."

Chuck asked, "Why? You have no idea who I am, Blair."

"I know who you are," she answered. "You're the man who was going to wait for me, so I waited for you. And I will stand by you. I would have you safe, Chuck. At home. I will see to it."

They trudged through the snow until they reached the barn. They settled Carter onto the floor, and Blair moved quickly to ensure that all the windows were boarded up. Blair ripped a piece of her shirt and packed it tightly with snow. She worked on numbing the area surrounding the deep cut to Carter's side. She looked up at Chuck's battered face. "I would tend to you," she began.

"Tend to Carter," he said. He walked to gather some snow in his handkerchief, then used the packed ice and held it up to his bruised eye. He sat down beside her and looked down at his friend. "Will he survive?"

She nodded. "The bleeding has almost stopped. He will be in pain, but he will survive," she assured Chuck. She glanced at him, and frowned at the frightful sight of his bruises. She held her breath when he touched the cuts on her arms. "From the glass in the warehouse," she said softly.

He nodded. "When this is over, I want you to leave with me. You cannot stay here after this, Blair. They will try you, and they will find you guilty of conspiracy. All because you saved us."

"Leave my country," she repeated, knowing what he said was true.

"I swear to you, you will not regret it."

Blair sighed. "Whether or not I remain here, I will not regret what I have done." Her eyes flickered to his, then to the dripping handkerchief he used to alleviate the throbbing on his face. "I would save you over and over. You do not deserve to be caught in this." Blair noticed the embroidered insignia on the cloth. She had seen it before, several times. It was the seal of one of the most influential members of the British Parliament. "Bass," she whispered.

Chuck followed her gaze, and saw the monogram on his handkerchief.

Her lips parted. "You."

He caught both her hands, taking away her attention from Carter for that single moment. He raised them to his lips. "Blair, leave this place with me. You should not be caught in this conflict. I swear to you, Blair, I will take care of you."

She drew her hands away. "I will ensure that you leave this country safely. That is it," she told him.

Chuck rose to his feet, then placed fresh ice in his handkerchief. He walked back to sit with her, and started pressing the packed ice on her cuts. Blair stopped, and held her breath when he kissed her wounds. She buried her fingers in his hair and wept.

He looked up at her, then leaned over her to kiss away her tears. "I did not come here to fall in love," he said softly. "But I cannot leave until you know."

"Say nothing of it," she whispered. "I would that I have nothing to yearn for, nothing to miss, nothing to remember. Tomorrow, you must leave."

Late in the night, she sat against the barn wall, alert, listening for the slightest sound. The day's events had exhausted Chuck, and he eventually fell asleep on the floor. Blair noticed Carter stir and she slid over to him to check on him. She placed a hand on his forehead, and was glad to know that he did not slide into a fever.

The man opened his eyes and looked up at her. "You are the girl."

She nodded. "I apologize for rifling through your belongings, Mr Baizen. I was doing what I was asked to do, for independence."

He smirked. "Like I would singlehandedly overthrow the Patriots from my presence back home." He shook his head. "I meant, you are the girl that Chuck wished to take with him. He would have left much earlier. His father was in an accident and is in his deathbed. But he wanted to take you with him." Blair glanced at Chuck, her heart sinking. "A bloody Patriot. Just his luck."

"Speak nothing of luck," Blair reminded him gently. "Your own father turned on you."

Carter sighed, closing his eyes. "All of us are caught in a limbo trying to make our parents proud of us."

"Or we want to dedicate our lives in their honor, to avenge them." Blair lifted Carter's shirt and looked at his healing wound. "Though I know my father would not want to see me this way, I tell myself now I do it for him."

"Abram would kneel in grateful prayer if I return to him and tell him I have changed my loyalties, that I am a Patriot. It would be so easy to be forgiven," Carter shared.

A tense silent hovered between them. Chuck's voice broke through. "We cannot leave for England from here," he said. "The dock will be guarded."

Blair nodded in agreement. "We need to find a way to travel."

There was a rapid knock on the door. Chuck threw a look at Carter. "You said no one else knows of this." Blair rose, started to walk towards the door. Chuck caught her arm. "Stay back," he uttered.

Blair shook her arm free. "From the moment anyone sees either of you, they would know you were supposed to be tied up. At least they would pause if they saw me."

She pulled the door open a crack, and saw Nate standing outside. "What are you doing here?" she said furiously. "Were you followed?"

"I've come to take you back," Nate said quietly. "You are with two men who will not be able to protect you."

Blair noted that he was alone, and pulled him inside, then shut the door. Nate assessed the two wounded men, frowned, then turned to Blair. "The snow still had your tracks." He looked at Carter and Chuck. "Neither of you thought of hiding your tracks."

Mr Vanderbilt did underestimate his grandson. If the old man allowed it, Nate could become a formidable force. Of course, the same Vanderbilt blood than ran in Mr Vanderbilt and the fallen Roman flowed through Nate's veins. And Mr Vanderbilt would not allow his grandson to be involved with political affairs after what happened to Roman.

"I have brought with me horses for you to use," Nate told them. "I am taking my fiancé back to New York. I hope this is the last we see of you."

She turned to Chuck. "I trust you will make your way home."

"You swore you would see that I leave safely," he responded quietly, grasping at any way he could keep her, convince her to leave with him.

It was Nate who replied for her. "Have you not caused her enough trouble?"

Chuck bared his teeth. "Do they know it was she who freed us?"

"They suspect her. She had gone missing."

"Then she's not safe in Boston," Carter pointed out. "I was Boston's celebrated prince until this morning."

Nate narrowed his eyes. "My grandfather will protect her."

Chuck nodded. "Then we travel to New York as a party. Blair can keep her promise and see to it that we safely board the ship. And you will not need to return to Boston where everyone believes she has turned her back on the movement."

Nate walked out of the barn and Blair heard the horses that he had brought with him. She turned to Chuck. "What are you doing?"

"This." He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. She closed her eyes and met his lips with her own passion. She felt the stirring low in her belly, and her heart thundered in her ears as she remembered Nate standing right outside the wooden door and Carter right there gathering himself up from the floor. She gasped and extracted herself from Chuck's embrace. She fought to catch her breath. "What you do not know right now," Chuck said quietly into her ear, "is that you will be sailing with me. You will not be able to let me leave. You fool yourself now, but you will come with me, Blair." And then, he strode towards the darkness outside to take one of the horses.

Blair felt Carter's eyes on her. "You are the girl," he repeated.

tbc


	8. Chapter 8

**Part 8**

"Í am only so emboldened by your presence," she whispered to Nathaniel as they looked down the dark street that was Manhattan's main street.

Nathaniel squeezed her upper arms. "You have nothing to fear while I am here," he assured her.

She had no knowledge of what awaited her in New York. The movement had gained large ground, taken strides so overwhelming, and she knew, if news had reached Manhattan of her treachery she was as good as dead.

But Chuck Bass and his friend sat several yards from them, alive, and she could not muster up an ounce of regret.

"Come to England with us," Chuck repeated.

She glanced at Carter, at the faraway look on his face. He thought of Boston, of the father who would likely never be seen again. And she knew she would stay, not as much for the patriotic cause as for her lonely mother.

"I will not change my mind," she answered.

"For your mother?" Chuck reasoned, "The mother who would have you wed any man?"

"Chuck," she protested softly. Nathaniel's hands fell from her arms. He did not ask, as he had promised. Yet even if he were as innocent as his grandfather believed him to be, there was no missing the fervor in Chuck's gaze. No way Nathaniel could not put two and two together.

"It cannot be him, Blair," Nathaniel told her quietly. And she nodded, not because she agreed, but because it was true.

She moistened her lips, then addressed Chuck Bass. Bass. It could have been so easy. She had wanted to marry a Bass, and he wanted her. It was just as she needed. If only there was not this. "I wish you a safe journey." At her words, Chuck scowled. He did not receive refusal often, did not receive it well. And it only now made sense to her how he could be so confident, so arrogant.

"I will protect you from all this," Chuck declared. "While he will only draw you deeper in this war."

"And your father is Bartholomew Bass."

It was Nathaniel's argument that sealed it for her. Blair closed her eyes and sent Chuck a look of apology. She had read Mr Franklin's statement of his visit to London. Bartholomew Bass was proponent of all the bills that had made life hell for the Colonies. She slid down from Nate's horse and approached Carter Baizen. She stuck out a hand, and bid him farewell. Carter jumped form his horse and took her hand. "Despite your choice, and your father's broken heart, I wish you well, Mr Baizen."

Carter nodded. She had saved his life, and she could see the gratitude in the way he looked at her. "You are brave to stay. I wish I could have known you more. I would have learned from you."

She flushed. "What could the Boston prince learn from a girl like me?"

The movement had been so terrified of this one young man they had traveled from New York to Massachusetts to determine his loyalties. The movement had been so threatened of him they would rather execute him than send him away. Abram's sacrifice had afforded Carter the best education, and political beliefs that had outgrown those of this father's.

"My father would venture to say loyalty," he began.

Blair shook her head. "Your loyalty cannot be questioned. It lies elsewhere, but the trait is there."

"Then, Ms Waldorf, sacrifice. For the love of a parent."

Her heart hurt for him, because he was grown and admired, even feared, and still it was the displeasure of his father that made his restless. She knew, whatever the outcome of the war, Carter Baizen would never be happy in his life.

And then she turned to Chuck, on his horse. She stepped towards him, and he fixed his stare. "Will you come with me?"

"I cannot."

"And you will marry that man?"

She nodded. "This is the life I have always imagined," she confessed. Not the war, but since her father's death, since their fall from grace, she had dreamed of making her way back to the top, imagined giving her mother another taste of what they had lost. She had needed a prince. Nathaniel offered it all and more. Chuck would take her away, cause her to abandon everything. "You have no place in my future, Chuck."

Chuck picked up the reins, and nudged his horse. "Baizen, let us go." Blair's eyes flooded with tears. They would not fall. If she allowed them to fall, it meant she was acknowledged that she was wrong, that she was weak, that she should have gone. She watched his figure grow smaller as he rode hard away from her.

Carter got up on his own horse. "We will be gone in the morning," he reminded her. "We will wait in the docks."

She nodded. "Stay at the tavern off to the end of the dock. It is called Victrola. The proprietor is Loyalist. You should be safe."

"Goodbye, Ms Waldorf."

"See him safely aboard, Mr Baizen. He cannot stay here." Not when he was Lord Bass. He would sooner be murdered here than tried.

"I owe you both my life," Carter said. "If Archibald can safely return you into the fold, will you see that my father is well? And write to me."

She promised, and raised her hand in farewell as Carter rode after Chuck. Blair turned back to Nate, who watched the exchange from his horse. She walked to Nate. He extended his hand. She placed hers on his palm, and he pulled her up to sit in front of him. And then they rode in.

Two hours to departure.

Chuck stood looking out the window of the rented room above Victrola, where Carter had insisted they stay. The harbor was calm, and he could see the steamship being prepared. He closed his eyes, imagining Blair coming to Nathaniel in a grand wedding affair.

Carter had said wedding feasts in the Colonies could stretch to three days of celebration. He wondered how Blair Waldorf would keep a smile on her face for three days, knowing she was committing to a man she did not love.

The knock on the door was a surprise to him. He had not expected Carter to return so soon. In fact, because he himself had been so restless he had assumed he would be the one to wake the other man from his healing sleep. Chuck walked over to the door, peered through the keyhole just because the swollen side of his face still remembered his capture in Boston. One could never be too careful, especially now that his identity had been revealed.

The figure outside, cloaked heavily from head to toe, would be unidentifiable to any other but him. Formless as it was, he knew, from the way his breath left his body in one quick rush, that it was her.

He pulled the door open at once. She looked up, the hood of her cloak falling to her shoulders. Her brown hair fell in waves behind her, her eyes desperate and apologetic. She flew to his arms and wrapped her arms around his neck. She clung to him, and his own arms wrapped around her of their own volition. He wanted to ask her why she was there, but his lips were locked with hers at once even as he staggered backwards.

Her hands moved to the front of his shirt as she frantically fought against the buttons that held it closed. Her lips moved to his throat. Chuck threw back his head, squeezed his eyes tightly shut as he realized why she was here.

He took her by her arms and almost reluctantly pushed her back to look into her eyes. "Blair, tell me you changed your mind." He could taste it. An aye. A promise that they would be together from now until the end. "Will you come with me?"

Her hands flew from the front of his shirt to grasp his cheeks. She pulled him down to her and silenced his questions with a searching kiss. Chuck grasped the back of her skull, pressed her closer to him. His tongue dove into the warm recesses of her mouth.

"I'm losing you," she said softly.

He shook his head. "Blair, I will take you with me. Say the word."

Her fingers rose to the ribbon holding her cloak closed. She pulled on it and the cloak fell heavily to the floor. "Take me. Take me now." She strode to the open door and gently closed it.

"You are not coming," he said in realization.

She turned around to face him, walked over to brush his thumb across his lower lip. "I will take a measure of happiness in your arms." She pressed herself close to him, and he staggered backwards until he was pressed back against the wall. "For tonight, my lord."

And she was there, everything he had not wanted when he came, everything he had been afraid of, running from the prospect of marrying Georgina to satisfy his father and his concerns with the life that Chuck had led. Here she was, everything he had imagined even as he fought against it. She would offer him herself, half of herself at best when now he wanted it all.

"Not like this, Blair."

"Do you remember the night we met?" she asked.

He nodded. She spoke of sun and the sunflowers, and he knew he would follow her forever. "I had promised you a Bass," he recalled with a sad smile. "I would give you anything."

She nodded, her eyes brilliant. "Then give me tonight, Chuck. Be the sun tonight. Give me some light. I swear from tomorrow on it will be dark."

She shed her clothes, her movement certain. Yet when he noticed her hands he saw them tremble, her lips parted slightly as she breathed in shallow pants.

"This is what you want?"

Her simple dress fell to the floor. Idly he found it ironic that it would happen just as his uncle had predicted. He would take her maidenhead, and he would sail away to England. Perhaps to never see her again.

"I want to have all of you," he confessed. "But I will take what you give me."

She nodded, her tears slipping out of the corners of her eyes. "Thank you. I could not live a day longer if you were gone and I had never been with you."

Memories. She wanted memories.

To take with her to Nathaniel's bed.

He lifted her in his arms and walked towards the narrow bed. In England, he would have laid her on the grandest bed, on sheets made of Egyptian silk. He would have given her jewelry from his mother's collection, and draped diamonds around her neck. In England he would have had servants to pour oil in her bathwater, and soothed her before tonight. She would have walked into his bedchambers and seen gifts wrapped lovingly on the bed. Dozens of gifts. One for each special moment he had missed in her life. A gift for each birthday, for each Christmas before they met.

Instead, she lay on the threadbare sheets. He reached for her bare stomach. Her flesh clenched at his touch. He soothed her with a caress.

"I am Chuck Bass," he said softly, meeting her eyes. She nodded. "I am a descendant of some of the most powerful men in England, Blair."

"And I am no one," she whispered.

"You are the world," he corrected her. "You are the world and I will take anything you have to give me. I'm Chuck Bass, and I am a beggar when it comes to you."

She gasped. She sat up on the bed, and wrapped her arms around him.

"A little while I tarried here," he told her, "and I am lost forever." She pressed a kiss on his chin. "Let me say the words, Blair."

Her eyes took on a look of fear that he had seen once before.

"Please."

Her smile was grim. "I cannot listen to it only once, Chuck."

He unbuttoned his shirt, and shrugged out of it. His hands went to the fastening of his pants. "I will give you tonight, if you will give me this."

She opened her arms as he laid himself over her. Her legs parted to make room for him. He guided himself to her, and stopped, jaw set, waiting.

"Give me this," he repeated.

Blair closed her eyes, felt his fingers on her. She nodded. "Then go on, my lord," she said.

He released his breath, then said against her lips. "I love you." It was like a sigh. Finally. It had taken so long, and she had denied the words from him. And now, he could say them. "I love you."

She smiled, and it was the saddest smile he had seen. It was a smile that could be heard, and the sound was that of tears. Chuck took her mouth in a kiss then slid inside. He swallowed her cry of pain, and soothed her with the words that he was now allowed to say.

"Blair, I love you. With all my soul."

If it could be prolonged, he would do it. He would seal them up in the room and lock out the world forever. In the aftermath, he held tightly to her. Both of them faced the open windows. Their fingers interlaced against her abdomen. She lay on her side, with him pressed up along her back. An hour later, he would be gone. And there would be no sign of the night except for his seed on her thighs and the blood on the sheets.

No sign. Nothing except for their memories.

~o~o~o~o~

The loud rapping on the door alerted her. She shot up on the bed at the same time that Chuck did. He stayed her with a hand on her arm. He barreled towards the door, not even putting on his clothes. Blair grabbed the blanket and pulled it up over her chest.

"What do you need, Baizen?"

"Bass, we leave now!" came Carter's urgent call. "The bloody Patriots are searching the taverns. We've been warned by the proprietor."

Chuck's gaze flew to Blair. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest. She stumbled from the bed and picked up her discarded dress and pulled it over her head.

"Chuck, hurry!"

Chuck grabbed his trousers and put them on. He rapidly put on his shirt and then grabbed her wrist. Her eyes rose.

"Come."

She was stricken. She opened her mouth.

"After tonight, do you honestly believe you can live the rest of your life as Mrs Archibald?"

"My mother—"

"I can send for her. Or we can send her a fortune. We will take care of her, Blair. For now, consider us. For once, be selfish."

She loved him. Slowly, she nodded. The gesture set fire under him. Chuck strode to her cloak and placed it over her shoulders, then raised the hood to cover her head. He took her hand firmly in his and threw open the door. Carter looked at her in surprise, but grinned. "The girl will come then. Good."

Carter gestured for them to follow. It was an escape route that the proprietor had shared. They slipped through darkened corridors, ran and ran until they emerged out in a narrow alley.

"There," Carter pointed towards the dock. "We cannot go together. One by one so there will be little attention drawn. Walk slowly. Do not run."

Blair saw the approaching Patriots, recognized Nate sitting on his horse. She sucked in her breath. She had so hoped that he would let live. And yet, it seemed, as Nate took command by directing the Colonists to scour the docks, that it was not only her, not only Carter, who had the overwhelming desire to prove their worth.

"Go on, Carter," she said softly. Carter walked calmly towards the ship.

Chuck noticed where it was she had been looking, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Take my word for what it is," he advised. "I understand why he has done this."

Blair turned to him and kissed him on the lips. "Now go," she said.

"You are next," he told her.

"If I am found here I can speak with Nate. You must escape as soon as possible. I will follow you closely," she said.

"Promise me."

She nodded. Blair watched with bated breath as Chuck walked towards the ship.

"Bass!" hollered Nathaniel, pointing towards Chuck.

Blair gasped. A shot rang out, and Chuck staggered on his feet, then fell to his knees. Blair watched in horror as blood spurted from the wound on his thigh. She saw Carter rush back to his friend's side and pull Chuck to his feet. Blair ran towards them, keeping her gaze trained on Carter who was now dragging Chuck to the ship. The steamship was sailing. Carter and Chuck barely made it on board.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Chuck pull himself up to the side and call out to her.

She reached the plank and was about to pull herself aboard when she heard the next shot. Her first instinct was to look up at Chuck, to see if he had been hit. She saw the horror in his face, and wondered if he was hurting.

Her hand slackened on the rail. She felt the burning pain spread over her back. And then, she was falling over. She crumpled on the side of the dock, paralyzed with pain.

And then they surrounded her. Strangers. They were strangers. It was as if her life drained out from her and onto the wooden planks.

"Blair?"

Her eyes fluttered, and she saw the faint vision of Daniel Humphrey staring at his hand. Why his hand, she wondered. She reached up and touched his hand, and her own hand came away wet. "Dan, it's blood," she rasped.

Dan nodded. "It's your blood," he said.

She closed her eyes.

~o~o~o~o~o~

Chuck struggled in Carter's arms when the man grabbed him before he could jump.

"No!"

Chuck threw daggers with his eyes. He glared at his friend. Even then he was faint with blood loss. He collapsed on the side of the ship. "She's hurt," Chuck spat.

"I am returning," Carter told him.

Chuck could barely string his words together in his head.

"I had asked for a small boat prepared for me, while we are not yet far from shore." Carter squeezed Chuck's shoulder. "You go home. Attend to your father. I realize now I cannot betray Abram like this."

"What are you saying?" His words were thick, and Chuck could feel himself almost slipping away.

Carter called for a doctor on the ship, and fortunately one came to help. "This is Lord Bass. Take care of him until London. The earl will reward you well," Chuck heard Carter say.

To him, Carter continued, "My loyalties have not changed. But I realize now, my respect for my father is greater than my loyalties in this war."

Chuck cried out in pain when the doctor tore the part of his trousers over the wound. He grabbed Carter's hand, and forced his friend to look into his panicked eyes. "Tell me she is well."

Carter nodded, without looking. He said, "She is well."

And they were the most beautiful lie. Chuck pleaded, "Save her."

"I am returning as a traitor. I will save her the moment I save myself." Carter rose and walked over to the side of the ship, where his small boat had been lowered.

tbc


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: **Earlier I was having a fit. Because of what happened. And I could either sink into a hole or gently ease myself back in. And so, Chuck is not in this chapter. I didn't want to touch Mr and Mrs Bass when I was feeling this way.

**Part 9**

Nathaniel watched from the doorway as Dan Humphrey stepped inside Blair's room and placed a plate of bread and a glass of water on the table by the bed. The writer sat on the rickety table beside the bed and reached out a hand to place it on Blair's shoulder.

"Blair, open your eyes," he urged. She did not stir, and Dan looked up at Nate with worried eyes. "She's burning with fever."

Nate's jaw locked, then nodded. "She has been fighting off the fever since the doctor dug up the bullet."

Dan glanced towards the corner of the room, where crumpled sheets have been discarded. Blood on the sheets. Her blood. She was his friend, and had served the cause well, and their own men had shot her in the back. When he rushed to her side and found her bleeding, he had been filled with mottled rage.

But the smoking gun was in Nathaniel's hand.

"And what have you done, Archibald?" Dan demanded. "Have you been waiting on the sidelines?"

Nate gripped the knob, still unwilling to step inside the room that was her prison for her treachery. "She was screaming like a madwoman," he recounted his reason for not going into the room while she was treated. "It was piercing my ears," he finished softly.

"They were digging into her flesh for your bullet, Archibald," Dan spat out.

"I did not know."

She had been covered. Completely. The cloak hid her form completely, the hood over her head. How could he have known?

But Daniel pushed, "Did you not? Who did you think it was then? The traitor Baizen and the nobleman were on board."

"I did not think it was she. Not Blair!"

There was a fine sheen of sweat on her face. Dan took a clean handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at her skin. He dipped the cloth in the basin of water and then squeezed the excess out. He folded the wet cloth and placed it across her forehead.

He needed to tell Serena. They had not talked for too long, not since he had been evicted unceremoniously from her life because of who he was. But Serena would not forgive him if she found out from someone else what had befallen her friend.

Daniel walked up to the other man, the privileged man, the one with the blessed life. "Why were you there?"

Nate's eyes flickered to Blair, who was yet unconscious, would not hear him even if he yelled. "I was there to capture the traitor."

"For what?" Dan exclaimed. "You are not part of this war."

"Because of my grandfather's judgment," Nate argued. "But I can do more. I can be more. And I will prove it."

"By shooting your betrothed in the back," Dan continued bitterly.

Nate grabbed the front of the other man's shirt and pulled him close. "While she was running away with another man," he hissed. And then he stopped. His eyes widened. Nate's lips thinned. "I did not know it was her," he repeated.

Dan grasped the other man's wrists and threw them down. "Leave."

"She is a prisoner."

Dan's eyes narrowed into slits. "Do not bring her into the politics between you and your grandfather."

"My grandfather has no place in this." Nate glanced back at Blair. "This is between her and me."

Dan nodded towards the corridor, urging Nate to leave. If Mr Vanderbilt had not been at his place in the movement, he was sorely tempted to teach the man one or two important things that an aristocrat could only learn from a commoner like him. His fist tightened. Looking at the other man, he pitied Serena van der Woodsen for the future that no doubt lay before her if her family would succeed.

"She has done far more for the cause than your premature leadership, Archibald."

Nate pushed his way through Dan and walked towards the bed. The scent of the whiskey the doctor had poured into her wound, the burning liquid that had made her scream in pain, was pungent still. Nate leaned over her and touched his thumb to the blue tint on her lips. Dan watched, primed and ready to step in with any move that he would not approve of.

Nate took the wet folded cloth from her forehead and dropped it back in the basin. He bent and placed a kiss on her forehead. He touched his fingers to her limp hair, then whispered, "Forgive me."

Dan took his shoulder in a firm grasp. "Leave."

Nate stood up regally, then walked out of the door.

~o~o~o~o~

The Boston movement arrived with all the flair expected of the grandest, most successful team to rise from the insurgence. When Abram Baizen jumped from his horse and proceeded to Mr Vanderbilt, the latter was the first to extend his hand. Abram gripped a folded letter in his hand, and said quietly, "Where is he?"

Mr Vanderbilt ushered the other man to the small dimly lit room where Carter Baizen sat on the hard floor, his wrists tied together with a rope at his back.

Then the room slightly brightened due to the light pouring into the room, Carter looked up. "Father."

Abram abruptly turned to the men surrounding him. "Leave me with my son."

The men filed out of the room. Carter held his breath as his father made his way towards him, then stopped a few feet away. "What have you done, Carter? From what I have heard, you were on board sailing away to your place in this war."

"I could not do it, father. I am first your son."

With those words, he had broken through the wall of ice between them. Abram stumbled towards him and dropped to his knees in front of Carter. The old man gripped his son's head and almost sobbed with relief.

"Are you?" he said harshly. "Is it true? My only son." Carter nodded. Abram cut through the ropes and freed him. "Then you will take your place beside me."

Carter rubbed the sore circles around his wrists. "Father, I need your help."

Abram pulled himself up to his feet and helped his son up. "Tell me," Abram urged his son.

"Help me take Blair Waldorf away from here."

It was a large group, but the most prominent knew the ones within the same circle. And Abram remembered the woman who had been on Nathaniel Archibald's arm. Archibald, after all, was Vanderbilt by blood. "She has defected from the cause," Abram said with a frown.

"She was to escape to England for me, father. She freed me. She committed treason for me."

And then, for the final blow.

"I changed my mind and stayed to be loyal to your cause, father, because of her."

Abram nodded. "Let me see what I can do."

Abram Baizen was at the very top of the Independence movement, and proved his influence to his son within hours. From his place as a prisoner, Carter Baizen was then handed fresh new clothes and a hot meal. And then what he had waited for. For his friend. For the woman who had saved his life.

A young man came up to him as he finished his food. Carter stood and took the hand offered to him.

"Daniel Humphrey," said the man.

"Carter Baizen," he said.

The man shook his head and waved dismissively. "I know who you are. What I do not know is what it is you have to do with Blair Waldorf." And then he clarified, "I have been told to take you to her."

"I am the reason she is here," he told Dan.

Dan folded his arms across his chest, then assessed the other man. "That is a lie."

Almost every day he worked with Blair, saw her change and flourish in those last weeks. And he had glimpsed the man who waited outside for her.

"Who are you to her?"

But this was a stranger. And he had made a vow to keep her safe. Carter answered, "Take me to her, Humphrey." His voice commanding, like a Baizen.

Reluctantly, Dan escorted Carter to Blair's prison. Carter stopped at the doorway at the sight of the room, with the bloody sheets and murky water in the basin. He walked inside, then parted the curtains to allow in some light.

"Get someone in here to take these sheets and change the water."

At that, Dan changed his regard. He nodded and answered, "I'll do that right now."

When the other man left, Carter looked down at Blair. He scowled at the sight. It had only been a few days since their capture, and already she was sunken and sallow. He quickly checked the wound on her back and saw the dried blood on the cloth. Carter peeled at the crusted rag and winced at the sight. "Butchers," he muttered.

In London, the doctors took much more care with the wounds. Because they were not wounds of war.

"This will scar," Carter told himself.

It was one more thing he needed to tell his friend.

He patted Blair's cheeks, felt the hot skin and recognized the fever. "Blair, you have to get stronger. Soon. You will escape from this place," he told her. "I will help you." Because he loved his father, and he owed his best friend. "I will make it happen," he promised.

She moaned deep in her threat. The sweat that bloomed on her forehead told him she would soon recover. Her body expended enough.

"You can do it," he urged her. "Think of Chuck."

Slowly, her eyes fluttered open. Carter held her glassy gaze, and knew she was caught within a fevered dream. He smiled. "Chuck is waiting."

She shivered in his arms despite profusely sweating. Outside, the snow still fell, and her teeth chattered.

"Chuck," she whispered brokenly, "it is too cold here."

"Blair," he corrected softly. "It's Carter."

"I'm cold."

Carter sighed, then stripped off his coat. He placed it over her frame.

"Hold me," she said. "Hold me like last night."

There was no time. No place. No one else.

To her, in her fevered dream, she was caught in Victrola, in his bedroom, the night before Chuck departed. And she saw no one but her English lover.

"Please," she pleaded, pulling at his shirt.

Carter gritted his teeth as he toppled over her. He wrapped his arms around her to warm her, rubbed his hands on her arms.

She shivered, and when she looked at him it was clear and glassy. "Kiss me."

"Blair, no."

"Kiss me, Chuck. Kiss me before I die."

Carter shook his head. "I can't." He placed his hands on her back to give her more heat.

She closed her eyes, and tears slipped from the corners of her eyes. "I never said I love you," she admitted. "I never said it."

She was slipping away. He felt blood seep from her wound sluggishly onto his palm. "Don't cry." With each sob, the blood soaked more. Carter grasped the discarded rags from the sidetable and ripped through it, then pressed against the wound.

"Why didn't I say it?" she whispered.

Carter placed a hand on her cheek, then sighed. "It's alright, Blair." And then, swallowing hard at the lump in his throat, he told her, "I knew."

And then she smiled through her tears. "You did, my lord?" she breathed.

He thought of his best friend, and short silent moments that came upon Chuck Bass in the times when he thought Carter was not looking. "From the moment I laid eyes on you."

Her eyes still closed, her body relaxing, she said, "In the balcony." She opened her eyes, and he doubted she could see him. She saw what her mind wanted to see, and he was in bed, with her wrapped in his arms, their limbs tangled together.

And she was only in Victrola with another man.

"Kiss me," she requested.

And he did.

tbc


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: **Apart from Chuck/Blair, I did not promise any end pairings, right? I'm planning some unconventional pairings for the other characters in the story. CB are inevitable. The rest is fair game. My apologies for how slowly I am working on this fic. As you know, I was an English history buff instead of American. I am not as confident writing this as I was writing Promise of Forever and Yesterday's Roses. For my next historical, I seriously have to go back and set it in England.

**Part 10**

The lie had been easy. Almost too easy. Carter had convinced his father that she was leaving America for Carter, that they had been in love. And instead of being branded a traitor to the cause, she had only received the mark of a woman who had cheated on the noble son of New York's movement for independence.

She had returned to her mother's house, and Eleanor had been informed of the end of her betrothal to Nathaniel.

"You have shamed me. You've shamed our name," Eleanor had cried out in her frustration.

Blair went up to her mother and reached to touch her arm. "I have done nothing but fall in love, mother."

"You promised a man to marry him, and then you go running off with another one?" Eleanor jerked away, jarring Blair and the fresh wound still on her back. "You have been missing for days. You are completely ruined."

Blair's gaze fell to the floor. "Give me time, mother. He will do what's right. I promise. You do not have to live with the shame—"

"I do not have to live with it now," Eleanor told her.

"How much do you think this affected us, mother?" Blair argued. "We were not at the top of any social circle before this."

"You and your father," Eleanor said. "You've ruined my name."

**~o~o~O~O~**

The moment that Chuck stepped into the large old mansion, the words he uttered were quiet, with only one intent. "Where is my father?"

"In his study, my lord," responded the butler somberly, bowing slightly at his presence.

Chuck glanced at the now unsettling gesture. Merely a few months away and he found the show of courtesy he had grown up with unsuitable, almost ridiculous. Then again, if his father was to be believed, Chuck Bass had never been who he was expected to be.

Three weeks in that interminable journey from America to England had healed his body, but all the time he thought of Blair and that pool of blood that surrounded her cloaked form. And not one night did pass when he did not think about sailing back.

His one comfort was knowing his friend had remained behind, and could perhaps give Blair some security in the knowledge that Chuck Bass would not abandon her.

Chuck ran up the steps two at a time on his way to his father's study. At the door he hesitated. As a child he had been ushered into the magnificent study at the few marked occasions that stuck to his brain over and over.

They had brought him to the study when he was seven years old to tell him that his father would wed again, brought him to the study to show him the new baby boy his father had with his stepmother. Two nights after the child had been born, his governess ushered him to the study so that his grandfather could tell him—his father had been grieving elsewhere—that his stepmother and the brand new Bass boy had perished in the night. Childbed fever they told him, took the lovely blonde bride that Bart Bass had taken. The child had never suckled, would not suckle from any of the wet nurses that had been brought to him.

Just as quickly as the two came into his life, they were gone. Almost like they were never part of it.

Chuck would have doubted the little bits of memories if not for the gravestone markers that graced the family garden at the back of the house.

One day his governess walked him to the dusty marker, the grandest of them all. It had a marble carving of an angel who was looking down, sad, with tracks of cold, static tears running down the smooth face.

"That's your mother, Chuck," his governess told him. "The day you were born, your father took you to the study, held you up while he looked down at your mother's garden."

And then, Chuck remembered from his governess' story, asked the child to pick where in the garden they would bury his mother.

"Lady Evelyn was the most beautiful woman we've ever seen. Broke our heart when we saw the statue."

Buried underneath had been Bartholomew's first wife. Marked on the gravestone right below, underneath the name, was the epitaph—Never Forgotten.

When his father saw him, it might as well have been on Chuck's forehead—Never Forgiven.

He opened the study door and expected to see Bartholomew Bass frail and barely able to move. Instead he found his father, still a man to be reckoned with, standing straight and firm, dominating. Almost immediately he felt himself become smaller in Bart's presence. Yet even then, the creases were more visible on Bart's face. With every breath, it seemed like the man was in pain.

"Father, I am happy to see you well."

The accident in the carriage had killed his grandfather, and left Bart the title and the estate. "Should it be death in our family that brings you home?" Bart asked.

"I've come home to see you recuperate, father. I see you have. If you will excuse me, I need to return to America."

Bart strode to his son, grabbed his arm. "I am not a well man, son. You are not going back in the middle of a war. I have no other heir."

With a brother he had not known lying cold in the ground at the back of their house, there was only one person who would remain as heir whatever happened to Chuck.

"I will not leave this family's future to my brother," Bart told his son. "Where is he?"

"In New York. He has my lands, father. Jack will stay in America."

"Good," Bart bit out. "My brother will not squander away the Bass fortune like he did his own inheritance." Bart patted Chuck's arms, assessed his son. "Life is short, Charles. I would that you married and produced heirs of your own."

"I've found the girl I would marry, father. I only need her consent."

Bart nodded. He walked over to his desk and drew out a small item, then walked back to Chuck and offered it to her.

"That's my mother's ring," Chuck said when he recognized it. Not even Bart's second wife had received the honor of wearing that ring.

"Georgina's parents have agreed that we have the ceremony as soon as you arrive."

"Father—"

"Little Georgie's been waiting for you all these years, Charles." Bart pressed the diamond in his son's palm. "Do this one last thing for me, Charles. You would make an old man very happy, son."

"Marry Georgina. This is what you want," Chuck clarified.

"Marry Georgina. Have children. Stay away from the war," Bart pronounced. Chuck had learned from Carter, of course, that Bart had been the first to vote for actions against the rebels. Yet here his father was, intent on keeping his own heir away from the fray.

"And if I am not in love with Georgina Sparks?"

Bart reached to ruffled Chuck's hair in an affectionate gesture that Chuck never experienced before. "Love will come over time, Charles. That is what happened with your mother." Bart patted his son's back. "You shall see, son. This might even turn out to be your great love."

Like his mother for Bart Bass.

There was a quick knock on the door. Bart called out his permission, and the door swung open. The butler announced the new arrival.

And then the young woman stood outside the door, her brown hair curled over her shoulders, with a big smile of excitement on her face. "Chuck!" she gasped. "They told me you were coming. But I couldn't believe it until I saw you."

"Georgie," Chuck greeted. But the girl was already running towards him. She flung herself on him, and Chuck looked down at the loose dark curls that clung to him. He closed his eyes for one brief moment, his fingers tentatively touching the hair, imagining it was someone else. She pressed closer to him, and Chuck felt a sharp pang in his chest. Very briefly, he pressed his lips on her temple. When the girl pulled away, her eyes vibrant at the affection that he showed her, Chuck said, "You're all grown up."

Georgie's eyes now went to the ring he held in his hand. Chuck quickly dropped the ring in his pocket.

"I'm ready to be a wife, my lord," she released in one quick rush of breath.

~o~o~o~o~o~

"Are you certain?"

Blair Waldorf bit her lip, nodded her head. She glanced behind him and saw Daniel crane his neck, watching out carefully for anyone close enough to hear.

"She's certain," Daniel told Carter.

Carter slid his hands in his pockets. He reached for the mug of ale that had been placed in front of Blair.

"We need a plan," Blair said. "Carter, I will support this cause to my death, but this changes everything. I cannot fight with everything I had. This is not just my life anymore."

"Let me see what I can do."

Had they been in Boston, this would have been so easy. In Boston, Carter was the prince and Abram was king. Even as they fought for equality, the distinction still existed. In New York, the Baizens were mere visitors, and Mr Vanderbilt was the highest voice of all.

And Blair Waldorf, though not a prisoner any longer, was still the woman who had traded Nathaniel for—as far as they knew—the man whose loyalty to the cause they still questioned.

"This will not endear us to Vanderbilt," Carter finally said out loud.

Blair looked up at Daniel, who nodded his head. She turned to Carter. "You've done your part. I cannot drag you into this as well."

"I promised Chuck I'd save you," Carter told her.

"You have," Blair assured him. She grasped his hand and gave it a squeeze. "I do not know how I would have freed myself after the incident at the docks."

"Blair, this will merely be us taking the story we have told and continuing it. We can just as easily continue as we have done."

And what a life it had been. She lived in a room in the Baizen's rented home after her mother had sent her packing. She could no longer work in the newspaper office, and the only friends that remained were Daniel and Carter.

"You want to tell people that it's yours," Daniel stated.

Carter nodded. "It is only logical. No one would think otherwise."

"No," Blair whispered. The first lie had been easy. They had been desperate. Her fingers brushed against her abdomen. Even at the prospect of the words leaving her lips, it already sounded to her like a grand betrayal. "I cannot."

"Listen. I can take you to England, Blair. I can convince my father that on Mr Franklin's next journey to the House, he allow me to join. My influence in London has not waned. I am respected still."

Her eyes grew earnest at the prospect of seeing Chuck again.

"But I can only do so if you were my wife."

She almost physically recoiled.

"Or at least if they think you are. We can make it happen, Blair."

Blair looked at Daniel. "What do you think?"

Daniel still often looked at Carter with distrust. Blair was surprised when he nodded his head. "Anything to get you out of here," Daniel told her. "You are too beautiful to be caught in ugliness like this."

At her friend's words, Blair stood up to wrap her arms around Daniel. The van der Woodsens were insane to drive the man away for the lack they perceived from his name and his worth. Soon, Serena would marry Jack, if Dorota were to be believed. Looking at Daniel, knowing him more and more from the days they worked together, leaning against him from the moment she fell out of favor of the New York movement—

The man was worth far more than all of Lord Jack's lands put together.

"You will be my child's godfather," she promised him.

Daniel gave her a lopsided smile. "When your child is born, I will be in the thick of this revolution. I pray to God we do not find each other in the same place, at the same time. That would mean you would not be safe." He nodded towards Carter. "Baizen should be an acceptable second choice."

Carter chuckled. "Second choice."

But Blair had just tightened her embrace around Daniel. "Come with us, Daniel."

"Do not worry yourself about me. This is my place," Daniel assured her. "And your place is with your nobleman, with servants surrounding you, raising your children in the comfort of a Society he can provide you." Blair smiled. "And perhaps one day if I emerge a hero in this war, the van der Woodsens would realize just what they lost when they refused me."

"You are worth more than a thousand English lords," she told him softly. "Not counting my English lord, of course."

tbc


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: **I am currently going through such a stressful couple of weeks. I appreciate your patience. Keep safe and sane and happy * sigh * I have received a few requests for Footsteps, but I might do Mr and Mrs Bass next just because I need some happiness. Sorry for the delay on Footsteps. That story requires that I be somewhat happy or else I would get more depressed. * hugs * Oh and if you're reading this, do let me know what you think. This story is rather neglected…

**Part 11**

It had been years since he had last darkened her door. The last time he had come, he had been a young man nerve-wracked and insecure. Serena van der Woodsen had been glorious, perfect like she had always been in his dreams, like every time he had seen her from afar. He had worshipped her for too long before she even noticed him. Once he had her, it was too difficult to let her go.

In the nights when he thought of her the fondest, Daniel remembered that Serena had seemed sincere when she professed she loved him. At sixteen she had taken him to her home to proudly show him off to her family. It was at such a young age that Daniel truly understood how different she was from him.

She was way up in heaven, and he was merely from earth.

He still had nightmares of Cece Rhodes' look of dismay when Serena had told her and her mother that she wanted Daniel Humphrey for a husband.

He swore, after hearing the staggering words that were used to describe him, and Serena's muffled promise that she would not see him again, that he would never return to the van der Woodsens'. For two long years he had kept his promise. It was only for his friend, for the girl who had striven so hard for the movement, that he now sought to knock on Serena's door.

It was Serena who answered the door. She blinked rapidly at the sight of him, and she was still so gorgeous he could not help the lopsided grin that softened his demeanor. Serena's eyes grew wide, then she pulled him out the door.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, shutting the door behind her.

The smile vanished from his face, and he related, "I know I am not welcome here. I would rather not have come."

"Then why are you here, Daniel? I had thought we were not speaking."

"The past two years should have confirmed the thought," he said in a snide manner. Serena pursed her lips. "I have come for your best friend."

"Blair?" Serena bit her lip. "Does she need me? She had not spoken to me since—"

"Lord Jack," Daniel finished for her.

Serena's eyes narrowed. "Do you speak to Blair? I did not know that you were friends."

It struck Daniel as sad that Serena could have drifted so far away from the girl who used to be her constant companion, to realize that even he—a stranger to her world—had become more a friend to Blair. And it was Serena who had been left alone in the lush comfort of her wealth.

"Your best friend, whom you have known most your life, is marrying Carter Baizen today. The moment they are wed, she is leaving the Colonies." Serena gasped at the revelation. "I thought that she may appreciate your presence."

"Did she ask for me?" Serena inquired.

"Blair has many things on her mind of late," Daniel told her. "Will you come with me? Will you give her your best wishes?"

Serena nodded. She glanced back at the house, then nodded her head determinedly. Daniel felt her grab his arm. He turned his head slightly. Daniel asked, "Are you marrying Lord Jack?" She nodded. "Then let us maintain our distance, Miss van der Woodsen."

Daniel climbed atop his horse, then extended his hand down to Serena. Serena asked, "Is it because he is British?"

Daniel pulled her up, so she could sit behind him. "Do not be ridiculous," he told her.

She pressed up along his back. "Then," she asked, her voice falling, "is it because you love me?"

Daniel refused to answer her. Instead, he nudged his horse into a gallop.

~o~o~o~o~

The gentle rolling of the floor beneath them was comforting as the ship waved with the lolling sea.

"You may kiss your bride."

Carter smiled down at her, encouraging. He whispered, soft enough so that others may not hear, "This is not real. Do not be afraid."

"Thank you," she whispered back.

"I'll make it fast. It is not as if we have not kissed before."

Blair flushed at the words. "This will be the first that I remember," she returned. Yet gratefully, her eyes fluttered closed and her lips tingled half in anticipation and half in fear. Blair felt the gentle pressing of his lips on hers. When he lifted his head, she sighed in relief.

"Very good," she heard Abram exclaim. Blair opened her eyes and turned to the older man. "Miss Waldorf—Blair," Abram amended eagerly, "when you and Carter return to Boston, you would have the grandest wedding ever seen."

Blair nodded, and felt tears rise in her eyes. The older man seemed earnest, and with his arms around her, Blair felt tears rise in her throat. "There is no need," she protested softly.

"Of course there is. I will welcome you to my family in the greatest fashion, my dear," Abram assured her.

It was Carter who placed his hand on his father's shoulder. Blair turned to Carter and noted the guilt evident in his face. "Father—"

Abram released Blair, then wrapped Carter in a tight embrace. "I wish you did not need to leave again so soon." When Abram loosened his hold on his son, he looked into Carter's eyes. "I know you need to." Abram said into his son's ear, "If this is something you have chosen to do, I support you."

Carter froze, and so did Blair. It seemed, at least, that Abram knew that which Carter would not say out loud even to Blair. "Carter needs to speak in the House. It is only Carter who can speak of our plight so eloquently. We will come back," Blair forced herself to lie.

Still, Abram continued, "And if you should not return, then give the girl a better wedding than a rushed wedding on a ship."

"Father—"

"You are my son, Carter. Thus I know your loyalties will not shift so quickly, so abruptly. If this is what it shall be, then so be it."

~o~o~o~o~

Serena and Daniel arrived on horseback, and Daniel jumped off his horse with lightning speed. He spotted Abram hurrying off the ship and concluded, "It is done."

Serena slid off the horse, then picked up her skirt, hurried along after Daniel. "Is it? Did we miss it?" she called out frantically. "Daniel, wait—"

Daniel stopped in his tracks, then turned. "When is your wedding day?"

Serena stammered, then responded, "In two weeks."

Daniel frowned, then gave a small, bitter smile. "I am leaving for England as well. Take care of my horse, Miss van der Woodsen." Daniel strode towards where the ship started to raise anchor.

Serena hurried after him, but could not beat his quick pace. "Daniel!" she called out. On the ship, she thought she saw Blair with a man she had never met. "Blair!" she screamed. She stared after the ship as it sailed away. Serena furiously wiped away the tears on her cheeks, despising Daniel for taking her to the docks for nothing but abandonment.

When she could barely see the ship, she whirled around. It was the only time she spotted the dark figure of a man. Serena squinted, then recognized the mess of hair that fell over a familiar forehead. She approached him.

"Nathaniel?"

He seemed to have been focused as well on the diminishing vision of the ship. At the sound of her voice, he turned to her and seemed to be surprised. He glanced at the ship, then back at Serena. He reached for the track of her tear, then brushed away the moisture.

"This is not right," he told her.

"It's not," she agreed.

Nate sighed, then told Serena, "I do not believe that she loves Carter. She had only met Carter in Boston. I was there. 'Tis impossible."

"Carter Baizen," she tested the name again on her lips. But there was nothing. And she knew Blair Waldorf. She did not fall so easily, so quickly. Blair needed a dream; Blair built a life.

"Did you see them speak?"

"No."

"Then I do not believe it either," Serena said in agreement with Nate. "She seemed so happy with the prospect of you. Marrying you—"

It was a dream come true for Blair.

"There has to be something I'm missing. Blair would not leave her mother so hastily."

"It was that other Englishman," Nate admitted. "I should have shot him when I had the chance."

"What Englishman?" Serena demanded. The only Englishman who mattered was her fiancé, and she was certain she had left Jack in her home when Daniel all but dragged her just to miss Blair's wedding.

Nate's lips thinned. "A bloody lord we met in Boston. Lord Bass."

"That's ridiculous," Serena snapped. "Lord Jack is my fiancé."

"He was all over her. Shameless," Nathaniel recalled, "to think that I was only a few feet away and she was betrothed to me. There is treason here." He swallowed. "Baizen wedding my fiancé out of the blue. Blair had been involved with Lord Bass, I am certain. This is a ruse. This is subterfuge."

Serena shook her head. She stalked towards Daniel's horse.

"Where are you going?" Nathaniel demanded.

"To Lord Jack!" Serena yelled back. "I will demand some answers." Even as she formulated the question, the image of Lord Jack's secretary, always in the back, always in the corner, always with a small smirk when Blair had been in the room, teased her brain. "Chuck."

~o~o~o~o~o~

If there was anything that brought Big Bad Bart Bass together with Lord Sparks, it was the shared love of world politics. It was plainly the reason that Bart Bass wished so desperately for his son to be involved with Georgina. When Chuck thought of his father's desires, his usual reaction was to throw them out and follow his own.

Yet there was one thing he needed his father for. Even more, there was one thing he needed Georgina's father for.

"Charles, you may be interested to speak to Lord Sparks about your holdings in the Colonies," Bart had advised him. "The man is the prominent voice. Whatever comes out of the man's mouth is gold when it comes to this insurgence."

At his father's bidding, Chuck made his way to the Sparks house. "Chuck!" Georgie greeted him enthusiastically. "Come. Let me show you my dress."

"Georgie, let me speak to your father."

Georgina waved the request away. "He's in the House of Lords," she told him.

Chuck strode to his carriage, and informed the driver of the new destination. He was surprised when Georgina climbed in after him. Chuck moistened his lips, then turned to Georgina. They arrived at the House moments later. Before he alighted, Georgina clutched at his arm.

"Georgie, let me go," Chuck requested, pulling his arm out of her hands. "I need to speak to him about America."

Georgina sighed, then loosened her grip. "Chuck, my father is an old man."

"What do you mean?"

She pursed her lips. "I know why you are to marry me. It is ridiculous, truly. I am not unattractive."

At that, Chuck had to smile. "No. You are not unattractive, Georgina," he agreed. Chuck took a lock of her hair between his thumb and his forefinger. "Have I told you yet that I adored the color of your hair?"

Georgina shook her head. "You like blondes," she reminded him.

"You have known me awhile," Chuck said in fond memory.

"I know what you like. And I know why your father wants to be affiliated with the Sparks." Georgina leaned back in her carriage seat. "I overheard them."

"Overheard them," Chuck repeated slyly.

"Fine," Georgina said grumpily. "I eavesdropped. My father has agreed to hand you his title and his seat in the House should we get married. That is two votes for the Basses. I am not stupid, Chuck. I understand that is why you will marry me." And then she narrowed her eyes. "What I do not understand is you."

"Me," Chuck said softly.

"Why would you agree to this, Chuck? Since we were children you have despised this life. I cannot believe you would marry me for politics."

Chuck sighed, then ran his fingers through his hair. "Georgie, I have no wish to marry you for a seat in the House. I have no wish for your father's title."

She smiled tentatively. "That's what I thought." Georgina climbed down from the carriage, then waited for Chuck. "Come. Let us listen to the arguments of war."

Curiously, Chuck allowed her to pull him along as they wandered into the halls. Georgina looped her arm around his, and told him, "You will be pleasantly surprised. Our dear friend is here. It has been too long since we saw him."

"Our dear friend?"

"Why, Carter Baizen, of course!" Georgina trilled. "From what I hear, he is come to argue for the side of the Colonists. Can you believe it? He had been staunchly on our side until he sailed over the ocean and was warped into such Colonial mindset." She chuckled. "I had not thought the man would be so weak-willed."

From afar, he thought he saw his dear friend pass. But he had been too far, and he could not be certain. Carter escorted someone he could barely see, and Chuck thought he recognized Daniel Humphrey a step behind him.

"I am practically rubbing my palms together at the prospect of seeing him argue, crash and burn. This House will eat him alive."

Chuck cleared his throat. He entered the large room, and scanned the crowd until he spotted Carter standing at the corner. It was unmistakable in the distance. It was Danie Humphrey with him. Perhaps it would be Daniel who would speak.

"See him?" Georgina prompted. Chuck felt her hand run down his arm. "And he's brought his poor pregnant wife from so far away when women have no place in politics."

"Baizen is married?" Chuck repeated. He oddly felt such sadness at not being part of his dear friend's special day. He did not know why, but of a sudden he heard his heart thumping aloud, frantic, nervous, too disturbingly erratic. In the pause between the argument, Chuck stepped closer until he could make out the figure that was mostly hidden by Carter's form.

"And he had not invited us, nor did he write to us. We should take offense," Georgina suggested. And then she changed her mind, "But he is too dear. Come. Let us tell him he is our friend no matter his side in this war."

He saw Bart make his way towards his old friend. Chuck hurried down the aisle. Carter stepped forward to greet Bart with an embrace.

"Let us wish him the very best in life."

And then he stopped.

Chuck found himself staring back into the wide brown eyes of the girl he had left behind.

He could be mistaken, but it almost seemed like she held her breath.

"There they are," Bart's voice boomed. "Charles. Georgina. Come greet your friend and wish him well. It seems as if Mr Baizen has fallen in love in the Colonies and gotten himself a bride." Bart took Blair's hand. Chuck watched with his jaw set. "Mrs Baizen."

"Blair," she said softly.

Her voice whipped over him like a lash.

"How quickly the tides turn," Chuck said, his voice hard as flint.

"Blair, then" Bart said amenably. "Mr Baizen, you might remember Lady Georgina Sparks. Charles' fiancé." Bart turned to Chuck. "Blair is with child, Charles. Soon, I hope that you and Georgina will give me such happy news." To Blair, he said, "Carter's father must be overjoyed. There is nothing an old man wants more than to learn that he will be a grandfather soon."

Blair moistened her lips. "Chuck, how are you?"

Georgina cocked her head, then smiled at Blair. "You know my fiancé?"

"I—" And then Blair shook her head. "No. Carter speaks of him so much, I feel like I do."

Georgina laughed softly. "I know what you mean." She turned to Bart, then promised, "Lord Bass, very soon, after we are wed, we will give you the same happy news. We will have a child at once. Right, Chuck?"

Blair stepped backwards, then muttered quickly, "I beg your pardon." She rushed away from the small group.

Bart watched her leave, then asked Carter, "Is she often sick?"

Carter kept his eyes on Chuck, who glared after Blair. "Too often," he answered. "The three weeks from New York to here was difficult for her."

"Aye," Bart agreed. "I remember. Charles' mother was often sick as well carrying him."

"Chuck, are you listening?" Carter prompted.

Georgina patted Chuck's arm. "It will be well worth it, my lord, to have your babe."

"Where are you staying, Carter? Perhaps you and your wife can stay with us…"

tbc


	12. Chapter 12

**AN: **Ahh, dear readers, I want to express my deepest thanks for the amazing comments you gave at the end of Footsteps. You make every effort worth it. Seriously, life is so hectic but I make time to write because of how amazing you are.

**Part 12**

Serena glared at her fiancé as Jack strolled along the long hallways of the van der Woodsen house. Jack must have felt her eyes on him, or he just had the loud arrogance of an English lord and thought he was the focal point of any place in the world, because he turned and seemed unsurprised at Serena's regard.

"Is there something you need from me, my dear?" he asked pointedly.

Serena thrust her chin up. Nathaniel had given her a good idea about how Jack and his secretary had played a game on them all, and she had stewed over her suspicions for much too long now. But tomorrow she was supposed to marry the man, and she could not do it knowing there was such a large secret between them.

"I know you've been lying to me," Serena stated.

Instead of being shocked, or appalled at the suggested, Jack smirked. "About what?"

"Where is your secretary?"

"I've sent Chuck back to London to take care of some business," Jack informed her. "There are many matters of business to settle."

Jack took Serena by the elbow, and led her down the stairs to where dinner had been served for them. "Tell me the truth, or I will not marry you."

"What is so intriguing about Chuck?"

"Blair is my best friend."

"Ah." Jack sat on his chair, then assessed Serena, who kept her silence as she reached for a glass of water. "So you are more aware than you would have me believe."

"I have no knowledge of anything because of your lies. And Blair is gone. I do not know if she is happy." She paused, then reached for Jack's hand. "She is my sister."

"You believe knowing who Chuck is will calm your fears at the way Blair fled America?" Serena did not respond. Jack offered, "Chuck is my nephew."

Everyone had talked about Lord Jack coming to America with his nephew, a boy who become an earl one day.

Serena released a breath. "That is what I know."

"He is the son of my brother, Lord Batholomew Bass. And Lord Bass, Serena, is a member of the House of Lords. And should we plunge into war, his would have been one of the voices to say 'Aye.'"

"He lied to Blair," she whispered.

Jack nodded. "With no intention of doing so. My nephew was here to escape a future speeding towards him. He had wanted to please his father so, to no avail. He was not made for that life. And he became fast friends with Miss Waldorf."

"They were the same," Serena thought, remembering the multitude of times that Blair had striven to please Eleanor.

"He was fascinated with her from the first," Jack admitted. "Even to the extent of believing a lie—that she was far more beautiful than you. Ridiculous thought," Jack said.

"Then why did she marry Carter Baizen?" she asked in disbelief. "Who in the world is Carter Baizen?"

At that question, Jack appeared surprised much to Serena's satisfaction. At least she was not the only person who seemed at a loss at the recent events. Jack sat back in his seat, and Serena could recognize the intrigued look on his face, as if he had a host of questions to ask. "Let me tell you about Carter Baizen," Jack began, "Bart's lost son."

Serena gasped. "You mean, Chuck's brother?"

Jack smirked and shook his head. "No. Although my brother probably wished that were true. No, no. In my dear brother's words, Carter Baizen is what the kings are made of—steadfast and loyal, with a passion and charisma for their cause. All these things Bart has said his own son does not have. Bart's wished his son were more like Carter Baizen from the moment Chuck took Carter to the Bass home." And it made Serena inexplicably sad for the young lord who had pretended to be less than who he was. "But alas, the son of a Boston-born farmer had more desire for what was important to my brother than his own son did."

"And Blair married him."

"Your best friend, who has been in the muck for too long with scandal and poverty, chose to marry Baizen."

"And leave for England," Serena added.

Jack shook his head. "I wonder why."

Serena's eyes narrowed at her fiancé. "Do you really?"

Jack chuckled. "It is a tad too obvious to me, and I have spoken with Carter Baizen only a very few times."

"What is it?" Serena prodded him.

"The boy has been rather loyal to Chuck since they became friends. I would think he and Chuck has a rather good understanding—Carter brings Blair to England for my nephew."

"They're playing with Blair," she grumbled.

~o~o~o~o~o

Chuck's fingers met in a steeple together and under his chin as while the floor entertained, in a marvelous show of generosity, the nameless gentleman from New York as he spoke in front. When Daniel Humphrey took to the podium, Chuck noted the tittering that hummed from the audience. Even Georgina, who watched with him from the sidelines, leaned over to a man beside her and asked about what had been so far discussed.

There was no respect for him, and it should have been expected. Chuck had no doubt that Daniel Humphrey knew this would be the reception he would receive.

"—a land of strong and hardworking people," Daniel continued, and Chuck could see the redness creep up from his neck to his face. "Life is not easy in the Colonies," he pointed out. "There are ravaging weathers and hard lands. But we have intelligent men at work. We have made you rich over the years. Yet, my lords, you cannot place blame on a people that is stifling under the yoke of this kingdom's excesses."

It was a straight insult, and Chuck could see how the older lords were appalled by Daniel's declaration.

If this was all his life depended on, Chuck thought, he would be as astounded by Daniel's words. It was then that Carter Baizen stood and walked to the podium. And like always, Bart Bass leaned forward, evidently earnest in hearing what his protégé had to say in the forum.

"Forgive me, my lords," Carter declared, and at once Chuck knew Carter Baizen's presence there would not be all that his father had expected. He would speak for a side of the war that would not endear him to Bart Bass. But it should satisfy Blair Waldorf. At once, his gaze turned to Blair. "It was England that raised me, that schooled me, that turned me into the man that I am. The gentleman from New York spoke of excesses, and we must all admit—I do, verily and with much conviction—that we do live a life of vain excess."

Carter met Chuck's eyes, and Chuck was taken aback at the look that begged for agreement. They had once spoken of this, when Chuck had expressed frustration about his empty life in London. He had shared so much with this man, considered him the one person who understood him and what he needed. Yet after Blair—he feared he would never truly forgive him.

"I walked into my father's house arrogantly enough about a month ago, to enlighten him. I knew more, have seen more, could speak of more. Because," he chuckled, "I was educated in England, like most of your sons. I toured the Continent and heard the music of the masters, seen the art of the greatest."

Carter had taken that trip with Chuck.

"And the Patriots were farmers or sailors or merchants or tailors. Some of them were even young women who read in the darkness and wrote sharp-witted articles because her heart was bigger than ours, and she would do everything in her power to contribute to the movement."

Blair's lips curved at the mention of her role, and yet it was at Chuck that she still looked.

"You should ask yourselves, my lords, how people would sacrifice their time, their comfort, their livelihood, for one cause. There are excesses here. Out there they are striving to live. You cannot take more from them. Stop the taxation without representation. Put a stop to this call for a ridiculous war."

Yet instead of watching her husband with admiration, Chuck was surprised to meet her eyes as she gazed at him. Her sad, quiet eyes were on Chuck, as if she wanted to say something.

There was deafening silence. The only audible sound was Carter making his way back to his seat.

And then it came.

It was a clatter of applause from Bart Bass. Chuck set his jaw. From the distance he saw Blair's eyebrows furrow at the reaction from Chuck's father. And he despised that even after her betrayal she still thought that she had a right to feel sympathy towards him. His hand slid to his pocket. He took out the ring that, since the moment his father had given it to him, he had reserved for Blair.

"Oh my God!"

He turned his attention to Georgina beside him, who looked down at the ring with wide eyes. He felt Georgina's hand on his arm.

"Yes!" Georgina exclaimed. "Yes, my lord."

"Georgie—" Chuck began.

"Finally," she said. "Your father will be most pleased, my lord." Georgina plucked the ring from his hand and slid it on her finger. She held out her hand and sighed happily at the sight of Lady Bass' engagement ring against her hand. "It's beautiful."

Chuck smiled down at her. She threw her arms around him. Chuck met Blair's eyes from over Georgina's shoulder.

~o~o~o~o~

"Carter, we shouldn't be here," Blair said tentatively.

Her opposition was invalidated by the presence of the butler, who ushered them into the dining room. "Lord Bass is waiting for you."

Carter placed a hand on the small of her back, then walked with her to the room. Daniel followed closely behind. Blair glanced at her friend, who looked around him in awe. "The mantelpiece alone is enough to seed three farms for a season," Daniel commented. And then he grimaced, "And it is comments like that which labels me an American across my forehead."

She gave him a small smile. "And there is nothing wrong with that."

"That is right." Daniel nodded at Carter. After the tense first meeting that they had, after Blair had been shot, Daniel had become slowly comfortable around Carter. "Especially when Americans have some rather impressive orations."

"You were not so bad yourself, Mr Humphrey."

They entered the dining room, and Blair was caught by surprise at Chuck's presence there. Since the butler only mentioned Lord Bass waiting, she had assumed there was only Bart. She had not prepared herself for the sight of Chuck's figure standing with his father. Neither did she expect Lady Georgina proudly showing off her ring.

"I am very proud of you for making this step, Charles," Bart told his son. "It shows to me how much you have grown."

"Thank you, father," Chuck murmured. He turned, and Blair felt her heart leap in her throat at the look on his face. He almost appeared—guilty.

And angry.

Carter's hand squeezed hers. Chuck's eyes flickered to the contact, and narrowed. Carter whispered, "I'll tell him before the night is over."

Blair's lips tightened. "No."

"He is about to marry Georgina. And I promise you, Blair, he would rather not marry her. He loves you."

"He looks happy."

She looked up at him, and Carter grinned down at her. "Looks can be deceiving."

Indeed, as they made their courtesy rounds after the session in the House, many of Carter's old acquaintances commented on the lovely couple they made—and how in love they seemed.

"People see what they want to see," he told her.

She had to agree, because she had no doubt she conjured up so many of what she saw in Chuck's eyes. Carter turned to Daniel. "Come. I will introduce you to Lord Bass and then to Lady Georgina. Never doubt that the woman can built your reputation here if she takes a shine to you. Georgina's family has friends that can help you accomplish many of your goals, Mr Humphrey."

Blair watched as Daniel struggled to establish a common ground with Chuck's father. When she turned to look at Chuck, she found him in deep discussion with Georgina. She wandered off to a wall painting of a lovely young woman.

"I see that you are as fascinated by my late wife as I am."

She glanced beside her and found Bart Bass looking up proudly. Daniel and Carter had moved on to speak with Georgina and Chuck. She nodded. "She is a lovely woman."

"I have more portraits of her upstairs."

"I would love to see them," she said idly. Blair noticed that Lady Georgina now held onto Chuck's arm. She turned her eyes away from them. She found Bart watching her curiously. "Truly I would."

"I would never pass on the opportunity to show off my Evelyn's portraits." He offered her his arm, which she gratefully took. Anything to keep away from the horror of Chuck and Georgina.

They made their way up the stairs. Blair sighed. This—this was what Chuck had offered her. This was what she had refused once. And she would refuse it again, if only she could have him again. They could be paupers in Manhattan and it would matter not to her if she could have him once more.

"I do not mean to be indelicate," Bart started. "How are you, Mrs Baizen?"

"It is not an indelicate question, my lord." She smiled. "I am well, and I thank you for your question."

"No," Bart said firmly. "I would know how you are doing. In your condition, traveling from New York to England in this rather uncertain time."

"Oh." Blair swallowed. Bart Bass wanted to know about his grandchild, even though he did not know. There were so many things she was unprepared for. "The first few weeks were difficult, my lord. It is a miracle the child survives."

"What do you mean?"

The two of them turned to the left wing, where she now learned most of the master bedrooms were located. Her room, in Carter's London townhouse, was in the left wing as well.

"I would hate to be indelicate—" she returned, using his own words.

"I am an old man, Mrs Baizen. There is nothing indelicate to my ears."

Blair nodded. "I am not a wilting English miss, my lord. I have seen and done many things. Before I knew I was with child, I fought off a fever of infection for being shot in the back."

"You were shot."

"Smuggling Carter and your son out of America."

And she realized her mistake.

"I thought you had never met my son before."

That was what she had told Georgina when she was unwilling to confront the fact that she knew Chuck. She had forgotten that Bart was in their midst.

"It was so brief. I hardly spoke to him."

Bart looked down intently at her, and she felt the flush on her cheeks. "You saved his life. I hardly believe that so easy to forget."

"Truly, my lord, I did not wish to upset Lady Georgina."

"Is there anything that should upset her?" Bart pressed.

"My lord, I am a married woman." Blair stopped in front of a portrait, and then turned to Bart. "Who is this, my lord?"

"That, Mrs Baizen, was my mother," Bart told her. "But come along, there are portraits that may interest you more."

Blair allowed Bart to lead her further down the corridor, and she found herself looking up at a portrait of a young boy. "My son, Mrs Baizen, when he was twelve. On vacation from boarding school." Blair held her breath, uncertain about why Bart suddenly took to showing her those portraits. "And this one is Charles around the time that he met your husband. They were very close, like brothers."

"They are," she admitted. "Carter would do anything for Chuck." It was what had brought them here.

"Did you know, Mrs Baizen, that on the day he came home, my son told me he has found the woman he would marry?"

"He did?" she whispered.

Bart nodded. He held up his hand, then entered a room to their right. He stepped outside with a dark red cloth in his hand. He handed it to Blair. "I had this brought out reminiscing after this afternoon, when my son proposed to Lady Georgina. But I would have you take this. A gift for your child."

She shook out the cloth, and found it to be a baby blanket with the Bass crest at the center. Blair folded it up and stuck it towards the earl. "I cannot take this, my lord."

"It's yours."

"This should be Lady Georgina's."

Bart shook his head. "You are new in England, my dear, but I believe it is disrespectful to return a gift in any culture." He patted Blair's hand. "Carter is close to my heart like he was my own son. I can help you and Carter make safe passage back to Boston."

Blair held the red blanket to her chest. "We should go," she declared.

"Will you and Carter not take me up on my offer? You can stay here until you need to sail home."

"Lord Bass, I cannot remain here anymore," she told the earl.

"Let me call your husband then."

They walked down the stairs. Blair placed a hand on her slightly rounding belly. When Bart turned to walk away, she noticed him frowning at the curve of her abdomen. "My lord," she said firmly, "please tell Carter that I am waiting."

tbc


	13. Chapter 13

**Part 13**

It was Daniel Humphrey who first joined her at her side. When the old lord left her to join the small party in the dining room, Blair made her way to the salon to wait for Carter and Daniel. It was only Daniel who emerged at first, and took his place beside her. She refused to meet his eyes at first.

"Blair," he said gently, closing his hand over hers. "What troubles you?"

"I am ashamed," she admitted. "I have brought you here, Daniel, and there has been nothing but hurt for us both."

Daniel smirked, then rested back in the sofa. He crossed his ankles together, then hazarded his guess. "Because the House of Lords could merely chuckle at my words?" She nodded. "I am the son of a man who plays guitar for coins. And today I stood in the House of Lords to say my piece. Whether they listened well or not, it is an experience no other can boast of to me. For a few moments, for a piece of an hour, I was speaking for my country."

She sighed. "I am grateful you see it so, Daniel." She looked towards the dining room, where she was certain Lady Georgina still hung on Chuck's arm. Lady Georgina with her polished shoes, and shiny hair. She probably wore perfume from Paris, and spoke languages from the Continent. "I wish to return to America."

Daniel frowned, then asked her, "Why did we come?"

"When we decided to come, it was to claim what was ours. Independence. You have spoken to the lords, and so has Carter."

"We have done our part," Daniel agreed. "And you, Blair? Have you done your part to claim what is yours?"

"They have made up their minds, Daniel. This was a dream. It is time that we go home."

Blair stood, and gave a sad smile in greeting when Carter walked out of the dining room and made his way towards her. Her gaze shifted from his face to the man who walked behind him, and she was relieved to see his arm empty.

Carter stopped before her, and urged her, with his low voice in her ear, "Let me tell him now." And then he expounded, "He will leave her for you. I know it from the way he looks at her."

She took a deep breath, then turned her attention to Dan. His words reverberated in her brain. They had done their part, made their travel to England worth the three weeks at sea. And she—proud as she had been for her courage all along, in the midst of her father's death, or scandal and poverty—had been nothing but the wilting flower she had told Bart Bass she was not.

"Will you give me a moment with Chuck?" she whispered.

At the request, Carter smirked, satisfied. Daniel made his way out the door. "We will wait for you in the carriage."

When the two left, Blair turned back to Chuck with her breath held. Chuck cleared his throat, and Blair saw him eyeing the dark red blanket that she clutched. Blair brought it up to her chest. "Your father gave it to me," she stammered.

"It was my infant blanket," Chuck said hoarsely.

"Oh." She thrust the blanket at him. "Please take it, my lord. I am certain you would wish your wife to have it."

Chuck shook his head. "It is an heirloom, preserved in an oak chest stored in the attic. I will have the servants find the chest and deliver it to you. My father has a reason to hand it to a stranger." Blair noticed the way that Chuck glanced at Carter, and knew at once that to Bart, it would be handing it to someone he looked at as a son. "The blanket must go to Carter's son then."

"You still believe your father does not care for you," she concluded. "Chuck, I have known your father but a while, but he does."

"I should do something to deserve his regard, should I not? I admit, all along, it had been Carter who had done all the things that Bart dreamed of for me. Georgina is but the first step. Do you see how proud he is?"

If this was what Chuck considered to be his chance, it was not her place to destroy it. She blinked away the tears, because of a sudden she could see him in his best, standing at the altar, waiting for the perfect lady to live with him in his perfect life. "This is your chance to show him that you can be the son he wants."

He did not answer. "My father tells me you would soon be on your way back to America," Chuck said.

"We will," she answered. "We have come for a dream, but now I see the dream is done. It is best that we return where we belong."

"And that is where you belong?" he asked.

When lies were good, when intentions were for the best, one should not regret them. She would tell herself that tonight while Carter searched for passage back to America, where there was another father waiting, where there were cities that would be torn asunder, where there was a best friend she had long abandoned, where there was a mother who took more than she could give. "Of course."

He regarded her with quiet, careful, measuring gaze. "I wish you luck, Blair."

And it was herself that she could not help. She was overwhelmed almost as much as she had been when she went to him in Victrola. Blair stepped forward and threw her arms around his neck. His arms wrapped around her body and squeezed tightly, and she shut her eyes, felt her tears roll down her cheeks. "Have the best life, Chuck. Have strong and healthy children."

He turned his face into the crook of her neck, and she thought she felt his lips caress her skin. And they kept the embrace, prolonged it as she pressed her body up against his. Her slight belly brushed against his stomach, and she swore, impossibly enough, that at two months old her babe kicked restlessly at its father's nearness.

They were to leave in the morning, and after that she would never see him again. In the fever of her dreams, Carter told her as she recovered from her gunshot wound, that her biggest despair was not having said the words.

"Stay well, Blair," he said softly. "Carter will love his son, more than my father loved me. Swear you will love it more than your mother loved you."

"I swear," she sniffled.

Chuck would give Georgina healthy sons, and he would take the place of her father in the House of Lords. And then finally, Bart would be satisfied with his son.

He straightened. Blair opened her eyes even as her cheek rested on his shoulder.

Through the haze of her tears, she saw Bart Bass standing outside the door. She pulled away from the embrace, and then hastily brushed at her tears. Her breath hitched in her throat when his thumbs reached up to wipe away the tear tracks. She should turn away, soon, at once, before Georgina stepped out of the dining room and witnessed this.

Instead she clutched at his hand and kissed her tears from his fingers.

And she knew he would say them, the words would spill from his lips. They were the words she could not listen to. Not anymore. They were words she was never supposed to say. Ever.

And so she loosened her grip on his hand, and turned away from him, rushed to the door and left his home.

And she emerged, to see Carter standing outside the carriage waiting for her. She plastered a smile on her face and climbed in to face Daniel.

"Have you done what you came for?"

She turned to look out the window as the carriage rolled. Blair rested her head against the glass. "I have," she answered. "But it was not my plan."

"Did you claim what is yours?"

Blair covered her belly with the blanket, and closed her eyes.

"Alright," Daniel said quietly.

The Baizen's London townhouse was humbler than the Bass house. Yet even then, both Daniel and Blair looked up in awe at the sheer grandiosity of the dwelling. Since leaving the Bass house, Daniel had been the only one who spoke incessantly, almost as if trying to keep her mind away from what she thought was the horror of the goodbye.

And even then, she thought it could not have gone better.

"Were you to marry Carter, Blair, in truth, you would be mistress of this house," Daniel said lightly.

Blair smiled, then nodded at the maid who took her coat. When the maid offered to take the red blanket, she held it close. "I am the mistress of the house, Daniel," she reminded him of the pretense.

"Come, Mrs Baizen. Allow Daniel to think of more delusions to regale us with tomorrow." Carter led her to her room in the left wing of the house and stopped in front of her bedroom door. He turned the knob, then placed a kiss on her forehead. "Rest well. We have a long travel ahead of us."

Blair closed the door behind her and walked over to the window.

Be the sun, she had begged him on that night. Be the sun, because all the nights thereafter would be dark.

It was the plea, and it was what they had agreed on.

It was unfair to expect more.

The dark night was pitch black once she blew out the candle.

In the morning it was still the sun that woke her. She turned to her side with her back to the sun, and the rays prickled at the nape of her neck. She could ignore the sun, yet the sun would not stop shining, would not stop waking her, drawing her out of her sleep. She sighed, then Blair's hand rested on her belly. She wondered if Carter had found a ship that would take them home, where Abram waited with the grand wedding he had promised her.

That was another heart to break, she thought. Once they returned, they needed to confess their deception to Carter's father. Carter needed to live his life, unburdened by a family that was not his.

"Good morning, my darling," she whispered into the empty room. Her hand now curved slightly where her stomach had once been flat and empty. "How are you this day?"

Blair kept her eyes closed. Her lips curved as she imagined.

A little boy with his father's eyes. A tiny bundle, and she could wrap him inside the lush red blanket from his grandfather.

Perhaps when they returned to America, and she took her child home to New York, she could rent out a humble little house outside Manhattan. After the war, if the war should ever end, she could make her living writing penny books. They were quite popular after all, and she had experienced so much more than many of those writing them. Her mysteries would be quite a hit. She could take a lesson or two from Daniel.

She could not take part in the war, at least. Not anymore.

In her humble little home she would treat her son like the blue blood that no one else would know he was.

"You would have dark eyes, my darling," she guessed. "And dark hair. And you strut around like a little prince."

And she would love him, like Chuck had said. Only this son would not have a father to please. But she would love him enough to make up for two.

Blair pulled herself up and out of bed. She changed into a dress, a new one that Carter had bought for her for their pretense. She would prepare breakfast for them. She and Daniel were guests in the house after all. Blair made her way down the steps and walked to the kitchen to find Carter's servant preparing eggs and slices of ham.

"Missus, breakfast is on its way."

Blair held up her hand. "I was going to prepare it."

"Oh no, missus. Sit in the terrace. Mister Baizen will join you to break bread."

Blair nodded, then sighed as she strolled out to the terrace. She picked up a glass of milk from the tray and brought it with her. The sun was warm on her face, creeping heat into skin that was prepared for cold. She stepped outside and closed her eyes, took a deep breath.

Her eyes fell down to the table, then squinted. She stepped forward. Her eyes widened in shock and her brain interpreted the sight. The glass fell from her hand and shattered on the ground. The stench was overpowering, and her hand clapped over her mouth as bile rose in her throat. Flies gathered around the carcass of the dead cat. Blair stumbled back into the house, but fell on her hands and knees as she retched on the floor.

"Mrs Baizen," came the quiet voice of the maid. "The man said, 'Run.'"

Blair looked up with her teary eyes, and saw the look of concern on the servant's face. The maid clutched a bouquet of flowers in her trembling hands. Blair saw the flowers clearly when the girl came nearer, and saw the wilting stems and the dead, drooping blooms. The rotting smell of the bouquet mixed with the stench of the decaying carcass on the terrace, and Blair sobbed out the pain that came with the vomit that she expelled from her stomach.

"I'll call Mister Baizen, ma'am."

The maid rushed off with pattering feet. Blair continued to retch until her bones were gone, and she could only melt into a puddle on the floor beside her bile. She closed her eyes and wished for strength. If she could, she would crawl away until she was as far away from the stench of death. When she felt arms under the backs of her knees and her shoulders, Blair cried out loud in gratitude. She felt herself lifted up and away from the terrace.

"It will be alright," she heard, and it was Daniel now, taking her to her room. Blair peered from half-lidded eyes, and saw Carter gripping a card so tightly it crumpled under his fingers. "Who the hell did this, Baizen?" Daniel demanded, and it was the first she heard Daniel speak so harshly to Carter since her shooting.

Carter shook his head, then folded the card. He slid it inside his jacket pocket. "I'm going to the Basses."

Blair told Daniel to put her down, but held onto her friend's arm as she made her way to the bed.

"We can't leave now," Carter told her in half apology. "We cannot run away from this."

"We leave now," Daniel argued. "Whoever did this is capable of doing so much worse."

"No," Carter said firmly. "We came here for America. This is what they know. This is why they want us to scurry back to the Colonies. I will be forced to back away from my cause by threats like these. No one can run me away."

His tone was firm, his voice assured. This was what everyone else—from America, from London—saw. This was Carter Baizen, whose murder she would have caused when she knew so little, followed only another man's vision. Blair nodded. "We shall stay," she agreed.

"Fine for you and me, Carter," Daniel reminded him. "But Blair is with child."

"I will go the Lord Bass," Carter told Daniel. "He can protect her."

"I am staying with you," Blair insisted. "We are one group. We rise and fall together." She turned to Daniel. "You know I have fought for this, Daniel. Do not take this from me. Child or no, I am still me. This is my battle too."

Daniel looked at her uncertainly. "At the first sign of trouble—"

"I will be the first to run," she swore.

tbc


	14. Chapter 14

**AN: **Another short part. Have fun.

**Part 14**

"Hello."

Daniel turned around and came face to face with Lady Georgina Sparks. The young lady had on a confused smile, as if trying to place him but being unable to. Daniel took her hand and lifted it to his lips. "Lady Georgina," he greeted. "It's a pleasure."

"Indeed," she murmured, watching as he brushed his mouth on the back of her hand. "Your pardon, sir. Have we met?"

"Carter was right. You are breathtaking."

She flushed. She had barely paid him any mind when they were in the House. How much fine clothing changed the world's regard, he thought. Daniel remembered the instructions that Carter had given him.

Draw her away. She is easily flattered by testimony to her beauty. Take her where she would not see the Basses. Allow Carter time to plea to Lord Bass.

When Blair learned of Carter's plan to walk in uninvited to the gathering that Bart Bass hosted in celebration of Georgina and Chuck's engagement, she had immediately opposed it.

"Give them tonight," she had demanded. "One undisrupted night."

"I am for it," Carter told her. "And you are not." He had turned to Daniel, and placed him forth to break the impasse. "And you, Daniel? Would you honor proprieties over safety?"

Daniel had thrown an apologetic look towards Blair, then decided. "It is for your sake."

And so despite her protests, Blair still put on one of her new gowns. It was an emerald confection, and was a shining silk. When she descended the steps, Daniel had been astounded by her appearance. He grinned, and said, "Is this what you used to wear before your father died?"

She nodded, and with a small smile, returned, "I miss it not."

"Now I know why Cece Rhodes could barely keep herself from running me away from that circle." Daniel looked his friend up from head to toe. "If the women there were half as beautiful as you, then that is far too close to heaven."

Carter walked out of his small study, then nodded in approval when he saw Blair. "Do all the dresses fit?"

"Most of those that I have tried," she answered.

Daniel waited for a compliment. Instead, Carter held up a rolled parchment. "I have spent the past hour listing every name I could think of who would wish us harm."

"So you think the one who sent the threats is a name on that list?"

"I have made many enemies here, Daniel. And now that I am speaking for America, it only stoked the fire."

Blair pursed her lips. "Perhaps it would be best for us to leave—a few months, Carter. If you have enemies—"

"I can send you away," Carter said firmly. "A few months in France, or in Italy."

At the prospect, Daniel grew interested. Blair shook her head. "If you remain, then so shall we. Whoever this is has come to you for your beliefs. This is what Daniel and I are fighting for."

"Then you will follow my lead."

Blair nodded. Daniel was fascinated by the way Carter spoke. First it was the House of Lords, and now he had managed to convince Blair. This was why Vanderbilt wanted Carter taken out, when he had suspected the young Baizen of being loyal to England. And now, fighting on the side of his own father, Daniel suspected the ones who wished Carter gone used to admire him, had passionately believed in him.

"There are three things that matter to me, Daniel," Carter shared in the carriage as they made their way to the Bass mansion. "My country, my father, and making sure Blair returns home safely."

They were little things that convinced him.

And now he did as Carter told him.

"We have met," Georgina said now. "I remember your face."

Daniel shook his head. "I have not had the pleasure. My name is Daniel Humphrey," he offered.

Georgina stopped, then turned to him. "You are the man who spoke of freeing America," she realized.

"I am," he agreed.

Her eyes narrowed. "What are you doing here?" she demanded.

"I have come with Carter and his wife. Believe me, Lady Georgina, I have no propaganda."

"That's hard to believe."

Daniel sighed, then led her to the balcony. "Perhaps I only wish to spend some time with a beautiful lady." Georgina eyed him. Daniel straightened, then half-smirked at her. "Is it so hard to believe?"

~o~o~o~o~

Chuck looked down from the second floor, down at the ballroom where friends of his family milled about. It was a mix of the richest and the most influential. And in the center of it all, making her way to get a refreshment, was Blair. In her expensive garments she looked every inch like she belonged in his world. This life suited her. Her skin glowed, and her hair shone.

"Do you see her?" Carter asked in his clipped voice, the one he used when he was serious, when he would entertain no nonsense.

"I do," Chuck answered softly.

"How does she look?"

Chuck tore his gaze reluctantly from Blair, then faced Carter as he leaned back against the railing watching the corridor. The man knew how he felt about Blair, and inside him Chuck felt a leap of fury.

Carter's jaw clenched. "It is the child that makes her beautiful."

Chuck drew his lips back, baring his teeth. He noticed the approach of his father. Chuck held his retort back, then nodded in deference to the earl. Carter stood up straight when Bart arrived. He gave a quick bow in greeting. "Lord Bass, I have come for help."

Bart eyed Chuck first, then turned to Carter. "Is it passage to England? I've promised you wife I will help you." Chuck looked at his father in surprise. Carter shook his head. "Then what is it?"

"There is danger," Carter confided. "I am constantly followed. There is a shadow that tracks my every move."

At the words, Chuck fisted his hands.

"This morning there was message for me—a cat dead, with a warning clear chasing us away."

"That is concerning," Bart acknowledged.

"My wife found it the carcass rotting away out in the terrace."

"This is ridiculous!" Chuck exclaimed. He turned back to the ballroom, his eyes searching for her. "How is she?"

"Recovered," Carter said.

"She cannot stay there," Chuck decided.

"Charles, do not dictate a man's decision about his wife."

Chuck gritted his teeth, then set a steady stare at Carter. "She will remain in this household, Carter," Chuck insisted firmly.

Bart cleared his throat. Carter raised a hand to stay the earl. "It is what I have come to ask, Chuck." He turned to Bart. "My lord, if it pleases you. I appeal to you. Blair has no father to turn to in this desperate time. We would be unfazed. Indeed, she is as much a part of this war as am I. But the child changes us."

"And you, son?" Bart asked Carter. Chuck sucked in his breath. Despite Bart's obvious admiration for Carter, Bart had not once referred to Carter as that. He hardly used it on Chuck. "Do you seek the safety of my home?"

Carter shook his head. "This will be over as soon as I determine who it is." He held up the parchment. "All these names I suspect. I will draw out the bastard. Then Blair can go home."

Bart took the roll from Carter, then looked over the names. "Many of these people are in this house right now, Carter."

"But no one would dare under your roof," Carter pointed out.

Chuck watched closely, like a hawk, as Blair moved through the crowd. And then, she stopped, right at the center of the ballroom. Slowly, she looked up and then met his eyes. When she saw him, she gave a small smile.

As if she had not done him wrong first.

Chuck scowled. She flushed, then turned back to the people surrounding her. He assessed anyone who dared to look at her, as if he could read their intent from the tops of their heads.

"I will look into this," Bart promised. "I will have the maid prepare a room for your wife."

"Thank you," Carter answered.

Bart walked away from them, leaving once more only Carter and Chuck standing by the railing. He felt a hand on his arm. Chuck glared down.

"I know you are angry."

Chuck's lips tightened. "I begged you to make sure she was alive."

"I did," Carter told him. "She was dying, but I made sure she lived."

When he turned to his friend, he was unashamed that his eyes were vibrant with bitter betrayal. "You stole her."

"She was begging for you. In the height of her fever, it was only you she called for. She was delirious, and called for you over and over. Chuck, she needed you. Only you." And then, Carter gripped his arm once more. "So I became you."

Chuck whispered in response, and it was as truthful as he could manage. "You bastard," he said in his thick voice.

"Talk to me."

"I wish to God this man, whoever he is, does not kill you. I would want the pleasure," Chuck spat out.

Carter tucked his hands into his pocked, then looked down. He nodded. Carter stepped close behind Chuck. If his friend would not face him, he would still deliver his message. "Bass, listen closely."

"Why should I?"

"Chuck," Carter continued. Despite his stubbornness, Chuck would listen if it had to do with the girl. "Things are not what they seem. Have faith." Chuck turned to look at his friend. Carter continued, "I am leaving her here because this is where she would be safest."

"My father swore his protection—"

"Not because of him, Bass. Because of you." Carter's hand closed over his shoulder. "If I fail in this, the titles of all my holdings here in England is in my study, the fourth drawer. They are all for Blair. Make it happen."

"You want me to hold them in trust for your child," Chuck interpreted.

"No. Nothing of mine goes to the child. Give them to Blair. She will know what to do."

"Carter?"

The two men turned towards the voice. It was Blair, standing on the top step, her brows furrowed in concern. Her hand was on her belly, and Chuck wondered whether she felt something from that swell.

"Blair," Chuck addressed her first. "I hear you had an unfortunate incident."

She nodded, then turned her attention to Carter. As if looking at Chuck hurt. It made sense. Seeing her so beautiful but unable to touch her was utter torture."Carter, shall we leave?"

Carter walked over to her, then took her hand in his. He pulled her towards Chuck. Blair avoided his gaze. "Daniel and I will leave," he told her. "I have entrusted you to the Basses."

Her eyes widened. "Carter, this is not what we discussed." Chuck watched closely. She stalked to Carter, then jabbed a finger in his chest. "This was a trap! You did this."

"I will come for you once I find out who it is, and I am certain you are safe."

Blair turned to Chuck, breathing deeply. Her eyes roamed over him. Almost with the same desperation he had when they said goodbye the day before.

"Carter, do not do this to me."

Carter pulled her close to him, then softly said, "This is not a punishment, Blair."

"He weds her tomorrow," she rasped. "How you hate me."

Carter shook his head. He placed a kiss on her forehead. "You will be safe here. I assure you."

Blair sighed, then turned around. Chuck looked at her, then extended his hand. "Come with me. Let me show you to your room."

Reluctantly, Blair placed her hand in his. His hand was warm, and she shivered at the contact.

"Mrs Baizen."

Blair stiffened. She drew her hand out of Chuck's. She whirled and saw Lord Bass walking towards her.

"Welcome to your new home." Bart turned his piercing gaze at Chuck. "Charles, your betrothed has been found nowhere for last hour. Search for Georgina. She may have need of you."

"I was to show Blair to her room."

"I'll take care of Mrs Baizen. You take care of Georgina," Bart advised.

tbc


	15. Chapter 15

**Part 15**

Carter had betrayed her.

Had they not all three agreed that they would fight this together? But Carter was gone, promised her a visit the next day and left her alone. With the Basses, no less. With Chuck who despised her and with Lord Bartholomew—whose every look made her feel like he knew more, like he expected something from her, something she did not know.

But she was exhausted. The next day she would confront Carter, demand for him to take her or she would leave on her own. She was Blair Waldorf, for heaven's sake! Her fate would not be decided by men.

She turned to the window, and looked out at the black night. It was drizzling, and the dark sky was starless. The skies were crying and she took a deep breath. There would be stars tomorrow, if the rain could cry all the clouds away tonight. There would be stars tomorrow, for the Chuck's wedding night. She reached behind her for the button of her gown.

Warm fingers brushed against her bare back. She started, then whirled around wide-eyed.

"Blow out the candle," he suggested, his words slurred.

The scotch on his breath was powerful, overpowering. She was reminded of the last time he had come to her drunk, when she had accepted Nathaniel's marriage proposal. He had come to her and asked her to marry him, kissed her. And she had denied him.

She needed to deny him now. "No."

"Blow out the candle. Let me lie with you," he pleaded thickly. "In the darkness you can think of Carter. Or Nathaniel. Or Jack. You would marry anyone but me."

The hurt throbbed in his voice. His belief was strong in his declaration. Even now, her heart clenched at the thought of his pain. "You would have a wonderful marriage of your own, Chuck. Is that not what you want? Your father will be pleased."

Chuck held on to her, growing heavy in his arms. Blair sat him down on the bed, then brushed the hair that had fallen across his forehead. She smiled down at him. "I understand," he said, his voice muffled when he, to her surprise, buried his face in her stomach. "I am half the man that Carter is," he whispered.

"That is not true," she protested. Chuck fell across her bed, his eyes half-lidded as he gazed at her. He would remember nothing by tomorrow, when he wed Georgina. But she needed him to know, to believe what was right. She sat on the bed, and allowed him to move and rest his head on her thighs. "I knew you before I knew your name or your title."

His eyes fluttered closed, and she saw the sheen on his tears on his lashes. "You wished to marry them all."

"I wished to marry you, but the world is bigger than both of us, Chuck. But I do not lie. I pray Lady Georgina will give you happiness in life. You belong in the same world. You belong together."

"I belong with you. I thought you realized it the night before I left." Then his eyes opened, and they seemed clear—as if in that one moment, he was sober. But it was deceiving, like the lucid moments of her fever, when she remembered nothing the day after. She knew it well by now. "What were you thinking, Blair?" he demanded. "Did you not think I would come back for you?"

She brushed her thumbs across his cheekbones. "I was a traitor." His hand reached behind her. She stiffened when his fingers trailed on the puckered scar under her gown. "Carter saved my life."

"I would have stayed with you." His hand fell away, dropped on the sheets.

"Do you know what they would have done to you, Lord Bass?" she asked pointedly, using his title. His hand was limp on the bed, and she itched to take it, to press in on her belly. And then she could tell her child, in the future, when she raised it alone, 'Once your father held you.' "They would have killed you—not thought twice about it."

"Better that quick death than the slow one I would suffer watching you swell with Carter's child."

"You will not see it," she promised. "It will not happen."

"Will you take yourself away then?" Blair nodded, closed her eyes and caused the tears to drop down her cheeks. "Lie with me," he said softly.

"You are going to be married tomorrow," she reminded him.

He repeated, "Lie with me. My head is spinning and I can barely contain myself. If you fear tomorrow, then be assured—I will not remember tomorrow."

She was tempted. Sorely so. One night when she could pretend. Since that one night in Victrola she had dreamed of his warmth, sought the comfort of his body beside hers. "And if you do?" She leaned over him. With his eyes closed, he looked so innocent. So easy to love. Pity that he could not find it from his father. "If you do, swear that you will marry Georgina, like your father wants."

"If you lie with me tonight, I will lie with no other woman," he swore.

"Then I cannot." Blair rose from the bed, then went to the flickering candle on the table. She leaned down, then blew it out. And then, she walked back to the bed. "Go on, Chuck. Return to your room."

"It cannot always be another man," he said to her, his voice accusing.

Blair sighed. In the darkness of the room, it was almost easy to sit with him. Blair searched for his hand in the darkness. She pressed a kiss into his palm. "You, I love," she told him softly. "No one else."

"Then how can you lie with Carter?" he said, his voice agonizingly soft.

Despite her will, Blair found herself slowly, in the darkness, resting back and lying on the bed. Beside him, even if in the darkness there were only shadows. At least, she was beside him. And only their hands touched. She would regret it in the future, when she listened to Chuck commit his life to Georgina, but even so she drew his hand slowly to her belly.

Pressed his palm where she prayed her child slept.

"I have never lain with any man. Only you," she said into the dark room.

And there was silence.

She turned her head, peering at the silhouette of his face. Saw his closed eyes. Then eventually heard the steady breathing that accompanied his sleep.

"Mrs Baizen."

Blair gasped, sat up on the bed, then turned to the shadowed figure in the doorway. She shot up from the bed, her cheeks growing hot. She glanced at Chuck, who still slept the sleep of the dead.

"Blair," came the man's voice. Finally calling her by the name though she had insisted on it since they met.

"Lord Bass," she choked out. "My lord, this is not—"

"In my experience, Blair, it is best to always remember to shut the door. My son knows this. I cannot believe he would forget," Bart continued in his calm voice. "Come out. Let us not wake Charles from his stupor."

Her knees trembled at the prospect. Her presence had been demanded. But her gown was falling off her shoulders. She hiked up the sleeves and went towards the earl. She quickly fixed her hair, brushed it to the side, then went towards the earl and the candlelit corridor.

"As you can see, Blair, with my son's condition, he might not recognize what it is want to say." His voice fell, and he continued, "Georgina is fast asleep in her own bedroom tonight, eager for tomorrow. Is there something you wish for me to know? I will remember tomorrow—" he nodded towards the bed—"even if Charles may not."

"We must remember, Lord Bass, that the world is more than any one of us. We should think of the happiness of others." Georgina, from what she had learned from Carter, would only be happy with Chuck. And Chuck—all he ever wanted was his father's approval. She had known it even before she knew he was a lord. It was who he was. It stayed with him even as a lord, or a secretary. "I apologize for the indiscretion. Nothing happened here," she insisted. "As soon as possible, we will leave you at peace. Carter will take me home."

His eyes. There were so unlike Chuck's, yet could hold her attention just as well. She turned away.

"My lord, I will send your son back. Please do not speak of tonight. I will discuss the situation tomorrow with my husband."

"And you will return to America," Bart stated firmly.

"Yes."

"Blair."

Blair stopped, looked down at the hand that closed around her upper arm. "Unhand me, Lord Bass. I do not wish to harm your family in any way."

And then his voice was cold, hard. "If you believe I will allow you to leave England with my grandchild, then you fool yourself." The statement made her shudder at the warning. "Carter said you were intelligent, that you have been part of the movement for months. If he is right, then you will heed me."

Blair took deep breaths, then slowly nodded. Bartholomew gave her a grim smile.

"You do not need to wake him. He sought you before his wedding day. Our servants are discreet. Let him wake to you in the morning."

She shuddered, then wrapped her arms around herself. Lord Bass closed the door, leaving her in the pitch blackness of her room. She turned around, then walked back towards the bed and Chuck's shadowed figure.

Blair sat on the bed, then curled up beside him. She pressed against his body, smelling the liquor in his breath still. His arms went around her waist. Blair buried her face in his shirt, then willed herself to sleep.

When she awoke in the morning, his eyes were the first things she saw. He looked at her, with his bloodshot eyes confused. She reached up, then cupped his cheek. She arched up in his arms and kissed the corner of his lips.

"Good morning, my lord."

His eyes closed, and he puckered his lips in response. "Good morning," he answered, his voice hoarse. And then, his hands cupped her head, and he deepened the kiss. His breath was foul alcohol, but still she responded and opened his mouth under his. "I'm caught in a dream, am I not?" he said.

"No."

"I am," he told her. "I've dreamt of waking next to you, of holding you, of kissing you. I dreamt of it so long I have gone insane."

Blair shook her head, then sat up on the bed. He followed, then looked at her gown, real and exactly what he wore the night of his engagement. His eyes hurt from the sunlight. When his head throbbed, he was convinced.

"How?"

She inched beside him, then pressed her body against his. Blair's fingers went to the buttons of his shirt to fix them. "Go on, Chuck. Return to your room. You need to change for your wedding."

His eyes narrowed. "What happened?"

"Nothing happened. Please, Chuck, go on. Before anyone finds out you were here."

He glanced down, looked pointedly at their linked hands. She disentangled her fingers from his. "I want to talk." She looked at him sadly, then again, instinctively sought his lips. His lips parted, then he promised, "I will speak to my father. I will return."

When Chuck searched the house for his father, his valet informed him that Lord Bass was already in the church. He called for his coat and had his horse prepared. When he strode to the waiting beast, the butler called out, "My lord, we will have your wedding garments brought to you."

But he did not listen. Instead, Chuck kicked the side of the horse. Within moments he was in the church. His father stood at the steps with Georgina's father. Chuck stalked over to Bart, then said quietly, "I wish to speak with you, father."

Bartholomew held up a hand to stay him. "I will be with you shortly."

Chuck grew impatient as Bartholomew and Lord Sparks walked towards the church, their heads close together as they discussed. One by one, guests arrived to the wedding. Finally, when he could no longer wait, Chuck went up to his father and stated, "Father, there will be no wedding."

Bart nodded, to Chuck's shock. "We know." Lord Bass patted the older Lord Sparks on the shoulder. "There will be no wedding without a bride. Lady Georgina has run away, it seems."

Chuck released his breath. "Georgina has run away," he repeated. Little Georgie, whose sole purpose in life was to land him. Georgina had run away from her wedding day.

Fate was kind. The kindest she had been since he was born.

He was fueled by the extreme urge to return home, to see Blair. He kept his excitement at bay. He turned to return to his horse only to find his valet waving at them from the bottom of the steps. Chuck furrowed his brow, his heart leapt to his throat.

The valet raced to the top step, but it was to Lord Bass that he turned.

"My lord earl, the Baizens were attacked outside your home."

Chuck grabbed his valet's arm. "What?"

Lord Bass narrowed his eyes. "Are they alive?"

"Mr Baizen is down with a head wound, my lord."

"And Blair?" Bartholomew asked.

The valet paused, then shook his head. "I did not ask, my lord."

Lord Bass curtly said goodbye to Lord Sparks, then made his way down the steps after Chuck. Chuck heard his father's instructions as Bartholomew rattled them off.

"Are they in my house?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Who is attending to them?"

"We have called for Dr Harrison, my lord."

"Go directly to Dr Monroe. Have him come to my house at once." Dr Monroe had delivered his stepmother's child, Chuck remembered. His name had been mentioned once or twice in his presence. "Let him attend to Mrs Baizen. Charles!"

Chuck did not stop in his race to his horse. He turned to his father. "I have to go, father."

"You will arrive before I do. Tell Monroe he needs to do better this time."

Chuck's lips thinned. "He will save Blair. I have no care for the child, but I will have him save her."

Bart grabbed his son's shoulder. "You tell him to save the child."

"She's young. They will have more children, father."

"When I arrive, the child had better be alive, Charles. I hold you to this." Chuck tried to pull away, but Bart tightened his hold on his shoulder. "That is my grandchild."

tbc


	16. Chapter 16

**AN: **So I know no one bumped this, and that Mr and Mrs Bass was bumped instead. But the muse visited this and I wanted to check first if my Chair heart would be happy with tonight's ep before I even started with a part of MMB.

**Part 16**

He arrived, just as she suspected he would, just as she expected he would, within an hour after she sent her urgent call to him. He had, after all, promised that he would save her, keep her safe and alive. Even as they journeyed away from the relative safety of his father's city and ventured into the enemy territory of his familiar England, Carter had vowed to protect her.

But they had never—not once—thought of the possibility that it would be his beloved England, the land that raised him more than America did, that would kill him.

"Carter," she said in a rush as she clutched at his hands, "you need to help me leave here!"

"Blair," he said sadly, firmly, "I am doing this for you."

"If you are you will not leave me here to watch him build a family of his own," she told him softly. "Please, Carter," she begged. She saw Carter's eyes shift to a point behind her and she turned consciously to see one of the Bass' maids watching her curiously. Certainly one or two of them had seen Chuck slip out of her bedroom that morning. The house had been abuzz with activity for Georgina and Chuck's wedding.

That woman. She judged her. Blair judged herself for it.

She had slept with a man she barely knew, had only just discovered his true name a day before.

She was a lowliest of whores to have allowed a man due to wed another woman in her bed hours before he took that woman's hand in marriage.

She felt another pair of eyes on her, and noticed Chuck's valet staring at them as they stood in the foyer.

Blair pulled Carter out, through the doors and into the street. She shuddered, felt as if her arms crawled with everyone else's thoughts on her.

"Ignore them," he told her.

"How can I?" she hissed back. "Will you help me?"

Carter shook his head. With his intent eyes, he told her, "This is best for you, Blair. I swear I have only your welfare in my mind. It is not safe for us. This is not a game."

Her eyes narrowed. "I am not a pawn. What is it that you want from me, to crouch behind Bart Bass' grand shield of protection, while all the while—" her voice broke, and then she shook her head. "Where is Daniel? Daniel will help me."

"We all agreed," Carter reminded her.

"I am unhappy," she told him. "Daniel will help me." She was certain of it. She only needed to find him. Blair turned on her heel and crossed the street. From behind her she heard Carter call. She ignored it, and instead quickened her pace. Yet his legs were longer, his strides bigger. Carter caught her arm and pulled her against him. "Carter, you do not understand. I cannot live like this."

His gaze softened, and then he asked, "Do you honestly believe, with all your heart, that Chuck would marry Georgina Sparks?"

His words were almost enough to convince her, and she wanted so desperately to. Chuck had promised his return, as if there was more waiting, as if he would do it for her.

"His father wants him to wed Lady Georgina."

"Do you believe," he repeated, "that he would?"

"I do not know him at all," she protested. After all, did Chuck Bass not lie to her all along about himself?

"You insist on telling yourself that." She turned away. "Very well," he decided. "I know Chuck Bass. I have known him for years. Count on my word. He will not wed Georgina, his father's wishes be damned."

"Why would he do that?" she whispered. But Chuck had told her. Despite all the lies, in that she could believe.

His smile was his most beautiful yet. Before he even spoke, she knew what he would say. Even the thought, the preparation for the words, was enough. Her heart swelled, and she was at a loss for words. He leaned close to her, and with his lips near her ear, he said, "I will be godfather. I know it."

"You well may be," she sniffled.

"You know he loves you, Blair."

Before she could respond, she pulled away and looked up into her friend's eyes. She loved him too, she wanted to tell him. It was a secret that overwhelmed her, and she needed to share it.

And it was a flood, a fountain, a volcano. The sharp explosion sounded in her ear, and she started in front of him. A warm spray burst in front of her and there was blood, on her dress, on her arms, her neck, and from the warm fluid on her face she was soaked. And then Carter was falling on her, heavy and limp and dead and pulsing his life out of a gaping, blackened wound. She fell underneath his weight.

And she screamed.

~o~o~o~o~

His world would not end. Not when it was only about to begin.

His father's words rang in his ears, like a balm that could soothe him only if he allowed. Yet even with its promise he held it away.

He would not breathe it in, would not live in it, would not dare hope.

If it was taken away, just when he had embraced it…

The door had been left open, and he took in the trail of blood that led all the way into the house. He forced himself to move. And he saw her, much to his relief. She stood with her back to him, staring out the window of her room. His eyes darted to the bed, where only hours before he had lain with her in his arms. And he had met her lips, almost as if they were back in America, in those last moments in Victrola before the world intruded and tore them apart.

A tub of water, tepid now it seemed, sat in the corner of the room. For her. His servants had been trained.

"Blair," he said, and her name was almost a sigh of relief on his lips.

She did not turn, did not stir, did not seem to have noticed his arrival.

He stepped inside the room, idly thought he should check on his best friend. No matter their differences. No matter their fight. Yet still he found himself on the way only to one person. He placed a hand on her arm, felt the sticky moisture on the sleeve of her dress. His hand came away wet with blood. His eyes widened, and he grasped her to turn her so she would face him.

It was horror on his face, he was certain. But her face was streaked with blood, and what skin was bare was white like sheet, her lips blue.

The bathwater to wash away the signs.

But she was alive.

He kissed her, ignored that the blood rubbed against him, and that it smelled like metal, knew it was Carter's blood that was pungent on her skin.

But she was alive, and so was the child.

She felt so cold against him, and his warm lips on hers made her colder still.

She would not speak. He felt her tears when they fell against his cheeks when he continued to kiss her. Shamelessly, he thought, with Carter lying somewhere in their house. Shamelessly, he thought, with no knowledge of Georgina's whereabouts, when she could as well have been hurt as run away.

"It was I," she finally choked against his mouth. He heard the pain in her voice. Chuck pressed himself against her, yet unwilling to break the reunion despite it all. "It was I. I made him come. He was safe, hiding away. I made him come, Chuck."

"You can never be at fault."

"He's dying," she whispered brokenly.

It was with a small measure of relief at least that he accepted the news of his best friend. And yet, try as he might, he could not draw himself away from her. Not even to see him. He drew her towards the tub, sat her on the side of the bed. For the first time in his life, he knelt on the floor, then lowered himself to bend over her feet.

With sure, measured movement, he took off one shoe and then the other. And then he slid his hands under her skirt to help take off her stockings. She lay back on the bed and stared up sightlessly at the ceiling.

He moved away, then took a small washcloth draped on the side of the tub. Chuck dipped the towel into the water and squeezed out the excess. And then he sat by her side, wiped the blood from her face. She did not move, did not acknowledge him. Chuck went back to the tub and washed the blood out of the cloth before returning to her to clean the blood off her neck.

It took a while before he could take away the remnants of the incident from her skin. Even then it was not erased. He asked her softly to sit up and she tried, but failed. Instead her eyes flickered to him to look at him. Chuck placed an arm under her shoulders and pulled her up to sit on the bed and lean against him.

Deadweight.

One night a lifetime ago she had shed her clothes for him, asked him for one night, and he had given her that and a promise. That night, he had given her more than he knew. And she gave her himself, without reservation, without holding anything back. He pulled the laces of her dress and loosened them. And then, he pulled at the blood-soaked dress and tossed it to the floor.

Very gently, he lifted her from the bed and gingerly laid her in the tub. The sleeves of his clothes darkened and grew heavy with the water as he soaped the pinkened skin and prayed that the blood would vanish.

Blair laid her head back on the head of the tub, turned her face to the side. Chuck glanced at her and saw the tears drip from the corner of her eye to her temple.

The tears would not stop, almost as if the events had been slow to creep in. And now she cried silently. Chuck pulled her up in her soaked sheet, then pulled the garment off her body until she stood naked in front of him.

He took her back to the bed, then wrapped the sheet around her. He wrapped his arms around her.

And then, she turned in his arms and pressed her face into the crook of his neck. "Make him live," she finally asked.

"Blair, I cannot make the impossible happen."

"He will die, Chuck. If you do nothing, he will die."

"If I do everything, he can still die. It is not in my hands."

She sobbed while he held her close. Chuck placed his free hand on her abdomen and its gentle swell. Her sobs softened and her eyes fluttered closed. He felt rather than saw the moment when she started falling asleep. Her hand involuntarily went to his hand over her belly.

"Sit with him," she said softly as she drifted off to sleep. "He cannot slip away alone. I would but—"

He kissed her forehead, kiss her wet hair. "I will," he swore. "Rest. For my son."

Her hand tightened over his.

tbc


	17. Chapter 17

**AN: **Thank you for your patience during the last two months. Work is settling down now.

**Part 17**

When she awoke, she saw him sitting on a chair beside the bed, his shirt half open, his elbows resting on his knees. She sat up, memories of the night before, when he took care of her, flooded in her head. He looked down at his clasped hands. At her movement, he turned his attention to her.

"My lord," she said softly.

At that, Lord Bass' lips—from now, it would be Lord Bass—curved, only a little. "Has it not always been Chuck, Blair?"

It had been Chuck, when they had been friends. It had been Chuck, when they had been lovers. It had been, when he was the man she betrayed her country to save. Now she was not so certain.

"It's so different when we're here, right at the center of your world."

"You are my whole world," he said softly. "You have been my entire world since the day I met you."

"Out there, when I wanted only to marry your uncle?"

"Since the second you stepped out into the balcony and I looked at you." His thumb brushed a circle on the back of her hand. "London was never my home. Now my world is you and the child." He lowered his lashes; her heart raced. He could not bear to look at her, and she knew then the news was devastating. "Blair, you need to say goodbye," he informed her gently.

Her lips parted. Her eyes fluttered closed. And then she felt his lips on her cheeks, kissing away the tears when they slid down her face.

He guided her; the corridor that she had once walked seemed longer. "Endless," she whispered. Unlike Carter.

The door opened, almost by itself. That was how it seemed to her. Her English lord stood by her side, yet when she stepped into the room and saw her friend, Chuck was gone. She took those steps towards the bed in her uneven steps. Her child seemed bigger, heavier inside of her. Idly, she noted that Bartholomew stood as a silhouetted figure at the foot of the bed, casting his dark shadow over Carter's form.

The long dark shadow, like the darkness of English murder.

"This is the bed where my husband dies," she realized.

Her friend.

Carter with his strong stand and even stronger heart. He had been safe in England, yet returned to Boston to a father who thought him a traitor. And he had done so for Chuck Bass. When he had rediscovered his father, he had left the safety and comfort of his native land. For Blair. For the child inside of her that he had wanted to bring to its father.

For all that he had done, this is what he received.

Succumbing to his wounds, a death far away from Abram, with a woman on his side who only pretended to be the love of his life.

She looked up with her agonized eyes and pled with the doctor.

"There is nothing more to do," she heard Chuck say. Blair looked up. He was there with her, even when she had forgotten. With her every step. She had been far too used to living her life alone. He placed a hand on her shoulder, telling her she would no longer be alone.

"There is something," she insisted. This she owed Carter. She remembered an old man's longing eyes, a fading man's desperate embrace. This she owned his father. "Where is Daniel?"

"Our friend has gone missing," Chuck told her gently. Then he added, with not the least bit of bitterness, "By all accounts, ran away with Lady Georgina."

At the words she expected to feel hurt, betrayed at least. Daniel had promised that they three would stand together in England. Now one of them had fallen, and Daniel Humphrey had abandoned her. But she had Chuck, and if Daniel felt for Lady Georgina one millionth of what she felt for Lord Bass, then Blair had no call to blame him. "Then I will do it."

"What do you want to do?" Chuck asked her.

Another arduous journey, another three weeks on board a roiling ship. She hoped to heaven she survived it. "I will take him home."

Chuck lowered his gaze. "It is a long journey."

And she stood, stepped close to him and searched his face until he met her eyes. "I know," she told him softly. "I took it to find you." When his eyebrows furrowed, she explained, "Carter took me across the ocean to bring us to you."

And the light on his face told her that he understood.

"So that my child will know his father."

He swallowed. His eyes moved from her to Bart, where the old man stood at the foot of the bed, eyeing the man at the brink of death. Lord Bartholomew was sorrowful, grieving it appeared—completely devoid of the nobility that wiped emotion from his face.

Chuck wondered if his father would mourn for him the way he mourned for Carter.

"Let me take him to his father, the way he brought your child to you," she finished.

And then he pulled her into his arms, in full view of his father. She stiffened in his arms. It had been too long since he had held her, truly clutched at her the way he did now. And they had never, ever showed it to anyone.

"You took the journey for me," he said softly, into her ear. In a room where there were far more people than she would like, he had created their own private heaven in that embrace.

"And I would take it over again, my lord," she promised. "You are my sun," was her reminder. "I would follow you anywhere."

He was the sun to her sunflower. A million years ago, she had told him what it meant. It teased his memory at the slight smile that broke the somber, sharp angles of his face.

And then she gasped, because his warm, moist mouth was on hers, searching, parting her lips. And it was unseemly with a dying man not a few yards away, with his father in his grief, and strangers—doctors, servants—present.

But he had lost her and she had lost him, but they had created this life between them together. And in the shadow of death, they would triumph.

So she parted her lips and accepted the kiss, wrapped her arms around her neck and clung to him like this was the only way that she would stay alive.

The entire world around them fell away, faded like a dream. In his embrace, for the moments the followed, for the very first time, they hid nothing. All she was—an insurgent who resisted England, who wrote and labored for independence—fell away. All he was—a nobleman who wished for freedom from the life that he was spiraling towards—fell away.

She was Blair; and she was a young woman who had sailed in search of her lover.

He was Chuck; and he had sworn to return for her then failed.

And then, when they parted, the world rebuilt itself around them. He took her face in his hands and stared into her eyes, forcing out of her vision everything but him. "I will take him," he told her.

Her hands flew up to grasp his wrists. She shook her head. "No!" she exclaimed. "Do you not remember that you barely escaped the Colonies with your life? You left bleeding." Her heart thundered in her ears, her legs seemed paralyzed with her fear. "Chuck, no."

"I will return Carter to his father," he decided.

"They will kill you. They will imprison you."

He pressed his lips on her forehead. "It is time I stood for something. Til now I have allowed the waves of this war to take me where they will."

"You have a child," she said firmly, hoping to sway him.

"I do," he answered. "This is the best that I can do for him."

When she met Carter Baizen, in his close to addled state of blood loss and severe beating, when he was facing death in the plaza because of his father's wrath, he had said thoughtfully—finding on thing in common among himself, Chuck and Blair—that all they wanted was their parents' acceptance. Carter had received it from Abram before he sailed away.

If Carter were to die, then he would die by his father's side.

Failing that, he would be buried in his father's land.

"Let me come with you," she told him.

And at last, Bartholomew Bass intruded in their world. "You are in no condition to take another grueling month at sea," he told Blair. She turned to the older man, and was taken aback by the bloodshot eyes, by the lines on his face that were deeper and clearer in his pain. "My son will make this trip."

If he meant Carter or Chuck, she did not know.

"Let Carter be buried in America. You will slow them down, and you will put your child at risk."

She shook her head. To Bart, she said, "You son will be killed if anyone recognizes him. I can sail to Boston and deliver Carter. I will be cared for and safe. For all anyone knows, I am carrying Abram Baizen's grandchild."

"We will not take the chance."

"Yet you are free to take a chance on your son's life?" she demanded of Bart, clutching at Chuck's arm for support.

Bart's smile to her was grim. "I respect my son for his decision. I have never respected him more."

In a battle of wills against this man, Blair knew she would lose. Bart Bass was all that Chuck wanted, even when he sought to escape his noble life. She turned her attention to Chuck as he stood beside her, and the gratitude in his eyes did not go unnoticed.

Chuck, she knew, would sail away from her the next morning.

She had questions, she had so much to say. But Bart Bass was there as well as a whole world that was outside their own. Blair leaned over Carter and kissed his cheek. A chambermaid leaned to straighten the blanket over Carter, jarring her hands from the bed, making her lose her balance.

That night she refused to go downstairs for dinner. After one refusal, which she had disguised thinly by sending a message that she was not feeling well, Bart Bass did not send any more servants to invite her.

The first one, after all, had haughtily requested her presence at the Bass table. Blair had sent her away with the same acerbic tongue she had reserved for Serena in their tiffs, and for Chuck when she had not been willing to admit to her true feelings.

The servants were sure to have heard of her actions in front of her husband's ailing form, and Blair knew she was the topic of conversation. She was a slut, the whore from America, she was sure. Carter Baizen, Bart Bass' lost son, was as loved in the Bass household as he was in his father's Boston home. And there she was, by his deathbed, flaunting to the world her affair with Lord Chuck.

"The next Bass heir," she heard whispered in the corners of the house, "is half Colonial, and will be born out of wedlock."

Blair held the red blanket that Bart Bass had given her.

"Will they give it their name? Quite a feat for a rebel."

Merely hours since they had been discovered, and suddenly she was lower than the scum of the earth. God, how she missed the gentle caring of Carter's servants. Although, with news spreading so quickly in the servants' unique little way, Blair could not count on the same acceptance.

To this kind of world, Chuck would leave her. Here she was a whore and not a woman who loved, who betrayed her own country to save a man. Here, she was worth only as much as the child in her belly.

The night was dark, and the walls of the grand house seemed to close in on her ever tighter with each breath that she took. And so she stood from the bed and placed the blanket on the foot of the bed. She lit a candle and took the silver holder in her hand, then made her way out into the corridor.

Blair took the darkened winding steps that led to the back of the house. In the late hours of the night there were no more servants milling about as they settled into their cots. She pushed the door that led to the garden. In the pitch blackness, only her candlelight lit her way.

She made her way to the stone bench and sat on the wet surface, then shivered at the sensation, regretting having left her shawl in the bedroom. Blair could stand, then make her way back, but decided against returning so soon to the stifling house. The marble statue almost glowed in the reflection of her candlelight. She looked up at the sad, tearful face of the angel.

"Lady Bass," she recognized, so similar the face was on the statue as that on Lady Evelyn's portraits, "did you feel the way I do?"

And then, in stark contrast to the temperature of the outside air, his hands, hot and comforting, settled on her shoulders. She leaned back, even without looking knowing it was Chuck who stood behind her. "How do you feel?" he asked.

"Like I am a stranger, and that there is no reason for me to be here."

His hands moved on her shoulders, kneading, massaging, allowing his warmth to seep into her. "My father loved my mother. That is what she felt." He leaned down and kissed the crook of her neck. "I love you."

"I know," she answered. "Yet you will leave me on my own."

"The entire household is yours. My father will make sure you are safe. Whoever shot Carter only wanted Carter dead."

"You love me, and you will leave me. That is all I know," she repeated.

"I promised you twice that I will come back for you. Neither time you listened." He sat beside her on the bench, then tilted her chin up so he could look into her eyes. "I am promising you now, Blair. I am delivering Carter, then I will come home. We will be a family."

She nodded, then settled against his body, resting her cheek on his chest. She could hear his heartbeat, steady and rhythmic, lulling her into peace. She looked up at the sky shielded by his lashes. "Chuck, there are no stars."

"There are stars," he said, placing his hand on her belly. And good Lord she was breathless at the sensation of his hand. Her child would not be fatherless, if they could get through this. "But first it needs to rain."

She held onto him tightly. He was right. A long time ago, she had been made hopeful by a father who hid himself to the world. And then the rumblings of far had turned her into a fighter. She had never been dependent on any man, had proven herself better than many of them.

Certainly, losing him for a month and a half, perhaps two, would only serve to strengthen her.

"Blair, there are papers that I need to leave with you. Everything that Carter owns in England is yours—his lands, what businesses he has," he told her.

Her hand tightened around his arm. "He's not even dead," she protested.

"I know. But he told me that I should give them to you should anything happen to him."

Blair closed her eyes. Lightly, she clarified, "The house?"

"The house. You are a self-sufficient woman here."

A tear made its way from the corner of her eye, then seeped into his shirt. Carter had made certain, despite his unfailing certainty that Chuck loved her and would take her, that she would not be left impoverished in a foreign land.

Any time, she could leave the Bass home and sustain herself.

"There are intricacies with the documents that my solicitor will iron out," Chuck told her. "He is not an Englishman, and is not required to bequeath them to his son. But he has left it all to you, and the House will want to see the papers. It should not take long—you are his wife."

Blair gasped, then realized they had not spoken of this. In the chaos that came after Carter's shooting, this had not been discussed. She sat up, then told him, "Chuck, Carter and I are not married."

He blinked at her, in quiet wonder. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it when he lost the words.

And then she had wrapped her arms around him, and said, "I had forgotten to tell you. When you found out about the baby, I had assumed—"

"Blair—"

"Chuck, I had not intended for this lie—"

"Blair," he interrupted, his voice stronger now. He held her by her upper arms, then met her eyes. She was afraid, almost. But she loved him, and she remained. She held her breath. And then he said, "Marry me."

And this time, it was she that the words abandoned.

"I was going to wait until—" his voice trailed off, because the next words would have been awful to verbalize. But it would have been the truth. He repeated, "Marry me tomorrow, before I leave. I would have them know that you are my wife." In the empty silence, he added, "And this child, Blair, is a Bass."

She nodded, then watched him as he brought her hand to his lips.

It had started to drizzle, very slightly, not a rain. Chuck wrapped his arm around her slender waist as they ran back towards the open door leading to the house. When he returned she would be thick and large with their baby. The two hurried up the steps and when Blair stopped at her door, he held on to her hand.

"Stay with me tonight," he told her.

And she willingly allowed him to lead her to his door.

tbc


	18. Chapter 18

**AN: **And so it returns. Yes, I'm in the mood for historical.

**Part 18**

The sea rolled under him. There was a tempest. The journey had been incomparably unstable, a tad too dangerous. In the first few days of the trip he regretted more than once his decision to travel without her. He had only just found her again, only held her in his arms knowing it was his right, learned for such a short time that he was the father of the child that made her belly swell wonderfully under her dress. Yet a week into the journey and they hit the vicinity of a storm.

And he had hoped to his God that his father knew him well enough to understand that no matter the legalities that prevented him from wedding Blair Waldorf on that last morning, with licenses not having yet been procured or banns being raised, Bartholomew Bass would know how to care for his family should he perish at sea.

Chuck stumbled towards the deck, to grip the rails as he looked out into the rough patch ahead. The skies had cleared, yet as all the stories of the mariners he saw the treacherous waves and choppy dark waters. The fog around them was thick, and one could barely see more than a dozen yards to the front. He prayed the crew knew how to steer them to safety. Any journey earlier than this and he would have half cared whether they docked or the ship capsized and rested at the bottom of the ocean.

Because all he could see was a cloud of gray fog, Chuck Bass stood with his feet apart and breathed in the stinging cold, wet air.

_Her legs, soft, supple, delicately splayed on his sheets the way he had dreamed for months. He had lingered on the bed, and ran his hand from the curve of her hip down her thigh. He heard her soft murmur when he curved his thumb at her knee._

Chuck still remembered when she had woken. He had watched her face, observed the slight tremor of the moon shadow underneath her lashes right before she opened her eyes.

All around him was warmth now. The ocean fell away like it were the dream and this small moment inside his bedroom back at home in London was what was real.

The soft noise at the back of her throat, which hung in the air like a musical note, was suspended memory between them. It had been so very different, so very heavenly, so very fleeting.

The memory of that last pale morning before he sailed away was his retreat. In the cabin he occupied, while he lay on the bunk bed and stared at the unsteady ceiling, he imagined that he was surrounded by the lushness of his chambers back home. In the narrow cot where the captain had ordered two sets of thin blankets add cushion for the earl's son, Chuck took a few precious minutes each day to remember.

_When she woke and smiled, he could see her moist lips glisten under the soft rays of the sun that streamed through the window. For a split second it seemed to him that she did not think of Carter. For that stolen time it was he and she and no one else and nothing else. _

_Her lips were moist, warm, and he lost himself in the deep recesses as he greeted her morning with a kiss. Possessively, longingly, his palm rested on the curve of her abdomen that he had until the day before abhorred for what it represented to him. Now the sign of her flighty heart, of the speed with which she had given herself to Carter, became testament to the passionate night that preceded his departure._

"_You would have come with me," he breathed against the wetness of her mouth. "The night when you were shot, I still wake up in terror to this day—I thought I lost you."_

"_I would have come," she answered._

_Her hands touched his face, crept down his chest and his heart skipped a bit at the flutter of her fingertips on his skin. And then she took him in her hand, led him to her core so he could sink into her and oblivion was only an equivalent of heaven._

"_I will remember this," he swore to her as he buried his length in her. It was the second time he was in her, in this paradise, in this heaven. He was in her embrace only for the second time and both times he was to sail away. "When I'm alone in my cabin, no matter where I wake up, I will remember this."_

"_Let me come with you," she pleaded into his ear._

_And even though in his selfishness, to what came naturally to him, he wanted her with him, he shook his head and placed a kiss on the corner of her lips, "You will be safe here."_

"My lord, retire to your cabin!"

The sharp command shook him from his reverie. His eyes snapped open. In London, on dry land, Chuck would not even consider the man fit to polish his shoe until it shone. At sea it was easy for roles to be reversed, for the power to shift. Chuck glared at the captain until he saw the worry on the man's forehead.

"If you please, my lord," allowed the captain.

Chuck gave a curt nod. Even if he owed the man his life, it would do well for his class to recognize who it was they had aboard. It was time to look in on Carter, he decided. His step was heavy, almost reluctant. He made his way to the cabin he had rented for his best friend. Each day that passed and the worse Carter's condition grew, Chuck became more and more unwilling to visit.

Sit with him, Blair had requested. Her biggest fear was for the man to pass alone.

But Carter, sunken and ill and barely recognizable from the last time that Chuck saw his friend—Carter would want to die alone, in quietness, without witnesses.

"_For glory," Carter had told him once, during their travels across the Continent. Small insurgencies had been erupting in the Colonies, and the England-educated Baizen had spoken to Chuck about the beliefs that he had held. Chuck Bass had barely listened, patronized his friend with a smirk and half of his attention. In fact, if he thought back, Chuck thought he only spared Carter a look because the passion with which he spoke morphed his face into odd expressions that reminded Chuck of the warped nightmares he had gotten from a shot of German absinthe._

"_Glory?" Chuck Bass prompted. He had cared so little about the war. Politics was his father's arena, and Chuck Bass did well to stay far away from the shadow of his father._

_Carter had nodded and lowered his leather-bound journal. The man had been scribbling on it throughout their tour. Chuck wondered if Carter had merely spoken aloud what he had been writing of. "That's what the rebels say," Carter shared. "They believe it is their nation and not England's."_

_The Conquistadores pillaged and plundered under the same banner, Chuck remembered. "Did the Spaniards and the Portuguese not annihilate civilizations under the belief that it is for God, Gold and Glory? These are the heroes they aspire to be," he pointed out. "Besides they're the Colonies," Chuck had reasoned. "It's not a country. It's a territory." That much he knew from the expensive classes that he attended whenever he could be bothered to come._

_He wondered now how his Blair would respond if he had mentioned those comments from his life before her. One day, he thought, when they feared their life together would grow stagnant, he would mention it and watch the striking explosions and cower at the sight of her anger._

_When Carter had returned to his notes, Chuck lit a cigar and considered his friend's words. "Are you anxious of the war, Carter?" Chuck has asked him in curiosity._

_Carter looked up at Chuck, then paused. His friend shrugged, then informed him, "The British forces will crush the rebels before it turns into a real threat."_

"_Your countrymen," Chuck clarified._

"_It's not a country," Carter reminded his friend. "Besides, I may have been by some stroke of bad luck born in the Colonies, but in England I grew into a man." Carter may have seen the smirk on his face, because he shook his head and guffawed. "And I do not mean Fanny Spencer gifting me with the opportunity to give me my first taste of flower."_

"_Your father is in the Colonies." From what he had heard, Abram Baizen was a gentleman farmer, respected in the area and adored his son enough to give him the world. In the Colonies, that meant Carter went to school in England, and had free reign to funds that allowed him to travel Europe. Chuck Bass had all the same resources, even more, but it did not stem from a father's love. Instead it was so that the earl would have to see him as little as possible. _

"_But you," Carter had said pointedly, "and your father are my family. You are my brother, Chuck."_

_Chuck took two small bottles of spirits they had bought off an old distiller in Prague, then handed one to Carter. He raised the bottle in cheers and swallowed a mouthful of the powerful brew. "For glory," Chuck said. Because no matter Carter's regard for the rebels, Chuck knew his brother well enough to recognize the respect in Carter's voice when he spoke of them._

Carter was his brother, Chuck knew. Blood did not matter; he was Chuck's brother. He had been Chuck's brother in those endless carousing, in those journeys. Even when Carter won his father's affection, Chuck did not waver in his regard. And he had loathed Carter when Chuck believed him to have stolen the woman he loved, yet even then he despised him like he would a brother who betrayed him.

They were brothers. And Chuck knew his brother enough to know Carter Baizen believed in glory and honor and pride.

He entered the stifling room. The one window was still shuttered. The doctor did not want breeze or evil air to enter the sick room. It should not matter anyway, Chuck knew. Every logical person knew that Carter Baizen was dying, and the trip to America was not to deliver Carter to die in his father's house but instead to be buried in the land that he had fought for at the very last.

When the doctor saw him enter, the old man pulled himself up to his feet and left the room. They had developed a wordless ritual. Chuck settled on the seat that the doctor vacated, and watched the unchanging stillness of Carter's face.

A death mask, he thought.

There was a time when he and Carter walked through underground catacombs in Rome. A few of the mausoleums housed full statues standing or lying by the tombs. Death masks ranged from plaster to marble. Carter had commented on the eerie sleeping faces engraved in stone.

Abram Baizen would not have a death mask created for his son. It would be a pity. Carter's face was made to be etched in stone. Blair had told him that quietly, with her cheek on his arm and her fingers threading through the hair on his chest, when they had been reluctant to part that last morning.

"Bass," came the soft rasp.

Chuck grew cold, and he sat up in his seat. He leaned forward and saw Carter's eyes barely open. He grabbed his friend's arm. "Carter, you devil! You scared me, asshat." He moved to stand. "Let me call the doctor."

A soft cough, barely a breath. "No difference."

Chuck saw the eyes, and they looked through him as if there was a point far away in the distance that was more interesting. "You look like death," he informed his friend. "You need the doctor."

Carter closed his eyes, as if mere light hurt, as if the rolling ship was murderous. Part of his skull had been shattered, and this was as much of a miracle as could be expected. "I'm dead," Carter said.

For a blessed minute, Chuck recognized his brother even though his body was no longer the same. There was no fear in his voice. It was a statement of fact. There was a time in Chuck's life when he could be so fearless, when there was no child waiting, when there had been no love in his life. But Carter was glory and pride, who would not show pain or fear or terror.

Despite the dignity, he could not allow his brother to die believing there was nothing to be left behind.

There should be dignity in death. That Carter Baizen had in plenty. But if there was anything that Chuck learned from everything he had just gained, it was that life was important. In death, there should be sadness; there should be regret. No matter how full the life, it should not be a gentle surrender.

Carter closed his eyes. A moment of lucidity before passing over to the other side. Chuck had heard of it before, never considered that this was Carter's goodbye.

Coarse, guttural voices from outside the cabin broke through his haze. Chuck grasped Carter's hand, raised it up, squeezed so tightly he was sure he was crushing Carter's bones. Complain. Curse. Open your eyes.

"I'm going to have a son, Carter. Will you just die when I have a son and you do not?"

Dry, cracked lips moved. Almost curved. Carter kept his eyes closed. "A son, you say? So you see—future—now?"

"That's right. I have something you do not. Come on, Carter. You will not let me win."

"You have a child because of me," came the light response.

His heart jumped to his throat. Carter would rally. The miracle happened in this cabin, on this ship. His brother was going to survive. If a man ever had the right to cry, this moment was it. He clutched at Carter's hand. "I did not know you were there that night, Baizen. I did not hear you talking me through it. Blair is carrying my child because I knew what to do."

"And she found you because of me."

And that he could not argue, not even to raise Carter's hackles enough to jar him out of his bed. "I will be grateful to you forever."

"You will repay me," Carter said softly. Chuck nodded, even if Carter could not see him. He would spend a lifetime paying back.

The cabin door opened. Chuck looked up at the doctor. "He's awake. He's alive. He will recover," he informed the doctor.

The old man walked over to the bed and checked on Carter's wound. Chuck released a breath of relief when the doctor seemed pleased with what he found. Finally, just when Chuck sat to stay longer, the doctor informed him that Carter would rest.

He wandered back to his own cabin. He heard the men passing by outside of his door. Carter was going to survive. News like this, his first urge was to go to Blair. They were sailing to America, farther from her each day. Once he delivered Carter to Abram Baizen, he would sail back home to London to his family.

By that time, Blair would be large with their child. When he held her again, he would feel their son move under her skin. Chuck lay back on the narrow cot and closed his eyes. When his son was born, he would take him on a journey to America. If Carter was going to stay in the Colonies, then his son—blueblood or not—was going to visit the Colonies to meet his godfather.

They would return anyway, if he knew Blair. The luxuries of England would not satisfy her. She was only landlocked now because of the child.

The last leg of the journey to America had been reached. Soon they would dock in Boston. Chuck stayed with Carter in the cabin for an hour or two to keep him company. Even then Carter could barely open his eyes, and Chuck hoped that the fresh air outside the ship, over at the Baizen's farmlands, would help him recuperate.

Chuck had only just entered the cabin when he heard Carter say, "You will be a fine father, Chuck."

He shut the door, then turned to his friend. Carter had been propped up with a few pillows behind him with his journal on his lap. Chuck nodded in acknowledgment. "With the fine example that my father was, where did you get that idea?"

"The earl has nothing to do with what kind of father you will be," Carter said.

"I will be a fine father," Chuck responded with conviction. "The finest."

"You ought to tell your son about me," Carter said. "Regale him with tales of Europe. Clean the stories, mind you. I do not wish to have Blair Waldorf cursing my name when the truth of our trip becomes apparent, and I become a less burnished in her eyes."

"You cannot ever be less of a hero in her eyes," Chuck reminded him. "You saved her life."

"Who would have thought," Carter murmured, "that it would be Nathaniel Archibald who almost killed her?"

The day they were to arrive to America, Chuck opened his eyes to the brightly streaming sunlight. They would dock in Boston, the captain informed him. Chuck Bass would make his way through the port and determine the best way to transfer Carter to his father. He stood and put on his trousers and buttoned his shirt. He faced the window and saw the land.

There were rebels—Colonists—posted at the docks. Chuck drew a shuddering breath. He was a civilian, no threat. He needed to lay low, enter and exit without calling attention to himself. He hoped he did not encounter Nathaniel Archibald. The man had shot Blair, almost killed her and their child. He was the reason that Chuck had lost her once and the very reason that Carter needed to leave America to take Blair to England. Nathaniel was the reason, if it came down to it, that Carter had been lying on his deathbed for weeks.

Chuck climbed to the deck and discussed the arrival with the captain. He looked up at the clear sky and wished that Blair could see this. He strode down to Carter's cabin to announce their arrival.

He reached the door at the same time as the doctor. Chuck nodded at the old man, and said, "We are finally here, doctor. Will you consider staying with Carter in the Colonies until he is fully recovered?"

The old man shook his head. "I will not survive the Colonies. I will sail back home if you please, my lord."

The doctor had done this as a favor to Bartholomew Bass, and Chuck understood the need to return. He would do the same after all. Blair was waiting, and he knew better than to leave the woman he loved with his father for very long. Blair might discover too many traits in a Bass man that would change her mind about him.

Chuck pushed the door open and saw his friend still sleeping on the bed. The doctor stepped into the cabin behind him. "Baizen, rise now. You are home."

Carter did not stir. Chuck spotted the leather-bound journal on the wooden floor, where it had fallen from the bed. He bent down to pick it up and bumped into Carter's limp hand hanging from the bed. Chuck stopped, stilled where he was clutching the journal. Slowly, he looked and saw the gray-tinged fingernails on Carter's hand.

He released his breath. Chuck looked at Carter's face, from the slightly parted lips to the half-lidded eyes.

Chuck's gaze climbed and met the doctor's. The old man shuffled to Carter's bedside and placed two fingers on the pulsepoint at his neck.

Chuck did not wait for the doctor to speak. He reached out and covered Carter's eyes with his hand, then closed his lids. "He was recovering," Chuck said.

A moment of lucidity, he recalled. Carter's had been more than a week long.

"It was a head wound, my lord," the doctor said in explanation. Not sufficient, but everything he was going to get, Chuck knew.

Chuck closed his eyes, then threw back his head. A few seconds, probably minutes. Outside they anchored to the dock. Chuck nodded, then spared a last glance at his friend. He slid the small journal into his pocked, then left the cabin.

The mission had not changed. He needed to deliver Carter to Abram Baizen. He would slip into Boston and coordinate with Carter's father. He would bury his brother in America.

And then—the mission changed. He could not wait to come home for Blair. But this could not pass. He returned to his cabin and picked up his valise. He drew out an ivory laden box and lifted the lid. The black pistol rested there in its velvet bed. Chuck took the gun in his hand and checked the barrel for bullets.

Nathaniel Archibald. A shot in the head in exchange for the bullet that killed his brother. Then a bullet in the back for the one that almost took Blair.

Then he could come home.

tbc


	19. Chapter 19

**Part 19**

The child buries the father, not the father his son.

It was an adage he had heard many times before, and one he knew he would hear more often now that war has come. Had he a choice, there would be no death, no war. He had wanted only to live his life by his own terms, disappointed his father with the lack of resolve that Bart noticed in his lukewarm passions. Chuck cared little about where the separation between England and the Colonies existed, avoided gathering in the House of Lords when crotchety old men decided the fate of two lands. He would be happy, he knew, to live in grand isolation with Blair and the child they were expecting, to live away from the glory defined by the number of blood you spilled for something as vague as your belief.

And yet here Chuck found himself to be the bearer of news that broke an old man's heart.

Abram Baizen held a hand to his hip as he trudged towards Chuck Bass in the dark, dark rendezvous that Chuck had selected. There was a gun close to the man's hand, ready to be drawn. Chuck could not blame the man. He himself had a close for a different reason. When Abram drew closer, Chuck placed his hands noticeably in front of his body, his palms up in a gesture of openness.

"I've come alone," Chuck said quietly into the cool night air.

The old man stopped, assessed his surroundings. The man scoped the alley and any place that could be used to hide, then nodded. He raised a hand and made a signal of dismissal. Two men, whom Chuck had not even noticed, stepped out of the shadows and walked away.

Chuck's face must have registered his surprise, because Abram shook his head and admonished, like the father that he was, "You are not skilled for this." Being unstudied at war was one thing Chuck had taken pride in, until this day. "A lord caught up in the midst of something he has no place in," Abram commented. "The last I saw you you were bruised and bleeding and about to be executed."

"It was not my fondest memory of the Colonies," Chuck managed. At the term he had used to refer to the land, Abram Baizen stiffened in offense. He would do well to remember that the place was America to these people as much as it was the Colonies to him.

"And you escaped. I could have you arrested now and executed by daybreak," Abram continued. And then, proving that he did not mean the words as much, he asked, "Why have you returned, Bass?"

Chuck's gaze lowered to the ground, reluctant now to meet Abram's eyes when he delivered his news. He raised his hand up and brushed his knuckles at his eyes. It came away suspiciously moist, and Chuck determined it was from tiredness. But he had come so far, sacrificed precious moments with his newfound family to hesitate at this point. Carter's stories spoke of a proud but loving father, one who deserved to be faced at a time such as this.

"I made a promise," Chuck began.

Chuck moistened his lips, then reached into his coat. At his movement, within the blink of an eye, Abram had a gun pointing in his direction. Chuck raised his hands up in surrender, as a show of faith.

"I am not skilled for war, or for assassination," Chuck reasoned slowly, softly, careful not to make a sudden move that could get him killed. "I am here because of Carter."

At the explanation, Abram lowered his gun. "My son," he said softly. He stepped close to Chuck with his gun still in his hand. Abram reached into Chuck's coat and drew out the worn leatherbound volume. His hand tightened around the journal. His brilliant eyes met Chuck's. "What—what of my son?"

Chuck swallowed, because it would be the first time he would say it aloud. "I—" He cleared his throat. "Mr Baizen, I loved Carter like a brother, and I've come to keep my promise."

The breath left the old man's body in a rush, and he deflated before Chuck's eyes. The proud stance hunkered, so quickly it was almost as if he had suspected, or felt the change in the air. "My son is dead," he murmured.

"He was a good man," Chuck said gently.

"He was a hero," Abram added.

"He was shot on the street in London after multiple threats on his life," Chuck informed Abram. "He spoke well for America, Mr Baizen, and was applauded by the House."

"Much good it did," Abram said. "Still we are at war."

"I was on my way to take him to you to recover or die in your company. I failed at that this morning before we docked."

"This morning," Abram repeated. Chuck nodded. "This morning I felt a cloud descend upon me." And then the old man nodded, straightened. His face was far older than it was moments ago. "I will take my son to be buried in my land." His brows furrowed in remembrance. "Blair. Is she on the ship?"

"I will not have her travel with a child in her womb."

Chuck realized the cruel mistake when Abram suddenly gripped his arm and squeezed. The old man's dead eyes grew vibrant with his tears. "A child. My grandchild is in England?"

"Mr Baizen," Chuck said, "there is no—"

"My son is dead, and I am sure to die before this war is over," Abram continued, "but my grandchild is safe in England." He nodded. "The war will stay in this land. England is untouched." He pressed the journal to his heart. "My line will continue despite this all." Almost as if in disbelief, Abram looked up at the sky above him. "Last night was dark, and this morning even more so. But you give me hope, Bass. How cruel to find that hope from an Englishman's tongue."

"I have not come to take your hope away, Mr Baizen," Chuck allowed.

~o~o~o~o~

A look, a whisper, a hand in front of a mouth, even the crinkle of eyes. They were cruel. Blair quickened her pace on her way back to the house. She held one hand to the swell of her abdomen in a futile gesture of protection. Lord Bartholomew had come to her chambers and ordered her to go for a walk, lest she become pale and wan with no exposure to the sun. And she had gone, believed Chuck's father knew it best—better than herself at the very least—to deal with pregnancy.

She had entered a bookstore and found the proprietor watching her every move. Since Chuck left, and Dan went missing the day Georgina did, Bart was the single person left in London that cared enough to draw her out. He had sent her books to pass the time. When she opened the first one, she saw the note on a piece of paper that the earl placed under the cover of one.

"For an educated young woman. Such rare treasure."

It had been a collection once, Blair could tell. The poetry books were writings of a master and collated years of work. There was a missing period, and it was noticeable with the way the style jumped from lyrical verses to staccato almost free verse.

When she found the second hand collection in the used bookstore, she drew it immediately from the shelf.

"For Lord Bass?" the shopkeeper said.

"Yes, it is," Blair answered. The shopkeeper wrapped the book in brown paper and handed it to her. Blair dropped a coin on the man's hand for her purchase, and heard the tinkle of the bell when she left. Before the door shut, she heard the guffaw from inside. She looked back and saw the man looking at her still. His wife had joined him, and they spoke and laughed and looked at her.

Blair thrust up her chin and quickened her pace. Everywhere she went it was this. The earl had taken her with him to a small dinner in the home of one of his associates.

"Mrs Baizen, is it not?" a baron greeted.

And despite the truth, it was simpler to nod until Chuck could come back for her and fulfill his promise. "Yes," she answered.

Lord Bass had taken the baron aside for their discussion of business and politics, and the baroness—a slender young woman with red hair pinned to her nape—brought her a glass of port wine. Blair took the glass and placed it on the counter. "It is my first child, but I know enough not to drink spirits."

"Oh that is only a rule for us," the baroness commented. "We have a delicate constitution, you know. I'm sure your child will be hardy. Farmer's blood."

Blair opened her mouth with a sharp retort, felt insulted yet wondered if she should. If the woman assumed this was Carter's child, and she had no reason not to do so, then the child was indeed from a line of proud landowners who farmed hard land to prosperity. Yet even so, Blair felt the urge to pull the woman's red hair off her head.

She entered Bart's house with her purchase and was greeted by one of the maids. Blair breathed a sigh of relief to be enclosed in those walls again. The maid smiled at her, then took her wrap to hang in the closet.

"Who is it, Gertie?" Blair heard the muffled voices as she climbed the steps. She gripped the banister and stopped.

"It's that woman from the Colonies. For the love a'me, Tilly, I can't imagine why Lord Bass is keepin' 'er. Poor Mr Baizen's good as dead."

A giggle, then a snicker. "Young Lord Bass has gone crazed in the 'ead fer 'er. That's why Lord Bass is keepin' 'er."

"Makes my skin crawl, mind you. 'Her 'usband not ifn dead and she's sleepin' wit' Lord Charles."

"Woman's got t' survive, Gert. 'Sides any woman'll spread 'er legs for Lord Charlie. He's fine."

"She's gone and got 'erself knocked up. 'eard she was Lord Charlie's skirt in America. Maybe they don't know if the child is Baizen or Bass."

"Lucky 'er. She should say it's a Bass and she's golden."

Blair's lips parted, then climbed up the steps. If she had not gone through the scandal that erupted after her father's death, she would not survive the jeers or the gossip that surrounded her. But she was Harold Waldorf's daughter and she picked up the pieces no matter how finely those who surrounded her did a job of ruining her.

This should not affect her. She was better than them all.

Yet even then she could not understand why she felt tears gather in her eyes.

She held the book with two hands and made her way to Bart's study. The door was slightly ajar. She walked over and stopped when she heard the voices.

"Divorce yourself from my presence," she heard Bart quietly say. Even without seeing the earl, Blair could imagine what mottled rage he contained only by the tone of his voice.

"My lord, the longer you harbor her, the more you will lose the trust of the House."

"She is my daughter now."

The argument continued. "My lord, your son has sailed to the Colonies with one of the staunchest supporters of the rebellion. And Carter Baizen's wife is living under your roof."

"Get out of my house, Henry. I will not hear of this."

Blair jumped up in surprise when the door flew open. She recognized Lord Bass' solicitor. Blair met Bart's eyes and gasped. The solicitor gave her a curt bow and passed by her.

"Blair," Bart greeted. He gestured for her to enter. "How can I help you?"

Blair stared at the open door with an open mouth. She then turned to Bart, then offered, "My lord, if my presence here is causing trouble for you, I can retire to Carter's townhouse."

"That is preposterous," the earl said in dismissal. "Now what is that? Have you brought me something?"

Blair handed the book to Bart, distracted still by what she had heard. Bart opened the package and nodded in approval at the choice. "Well, Blair, you have completed my shelf. I have been searching for this collection for years, and it took only you to complete it."

"My lord," she attempted again, "Carter's house is furnished and stocked. Chuck has taken care of the papers so I will not need to do so. I can live there."

"What have I told you, Blair? I will not allow you to take my grandchild."

"We are still to stay in London," Blair insisted. "Your peers will never accept me because of who I am, and I know that."

"You are my daughter."

"I am not married to your son," Blair clarified. "And your grandchild will stay in London, but it would be better for me to be in Carter's house where I am not judged at every turn."

Bart's expression grew dark, and then he faced Blair. "Judged?" His eyes narrowed. "Who judges you?"

"I do not blame them, my lord. It is unseemly, my presence here and now. And I am used to the gossip. I faced the same in America." She shook her head. "But I would rather do without, and Carter has given me the choice. It is more than I have had for most of my life, my lord."

"The servants," Bart assumed. "Have your heard talk from the servants?" Reluctantly, Blair nodded. Bart stalked out of the room.

Moments later Bart returned to the study. His valet ushered in the eight maids who were working that day. Blair looked up at Bart in surprise. The earl made his way to Blair's side, then nodded towards the line of young women who looked fearfully up at Lord Bass.

"I have on good authority learned that my household has been speaking ill of the young lady standing beside me," the earl began.

Under her breath, Blair muttered, "There is no need for this, my lord."

Bart clenched his jaw, then said in a low voice that only Blair could hear. "Your child will one day have all that I have. Soon you will be married to my heir. This is what you must learn."

'There was cause to talk," Blair insisted.

"Blair, learn this from me and it will serve you well in the future. Despite everything you insist you believe—Not all men are created equal. Some are intelligent; some are not. Some are unfortunate while some are blessed. You take what you have been given and you fight for your right. Your world has been about survival."

"And I did." From the destruction of her life in America, she had fought and joined a cause. She had faced the scandal and worked and even fell in love.

"You will stop fighting for survival," Bart told her. "From now on, you can shed your burden, my dear." She looked up at Bart, and the earl turned to her. "You are a Bass now; you are my daughter. You can rest and allow us to take care of you."

Her lips parted, and she took a slow breath. Chuck had sworn to her, offered her the whole world. There was no need to fight, no need to work. Survival was earth and heaven was in his arms.

Bart cleared his throat. He turned back to the maids who fidgeted in front of him. "Which of you have been speaking ill of—" A pause, almost unnoticeable, but it burned Blair's ears. "—Lady Blair?"

Bart's eyes narrowed.

"Perhaps you were not aware, but Lady Blair is to wed my son the day he returns from the Colonies. And this child is a Bass. Not a drop of doubt. There is no need for me to explain this all to you," he pointed out, "but respect is key in this household, so I have taken my time to do so."

One of the maids stepped forward, with her head down. "My lord, my lady, I'm so sorry."

"Tilly," Bart responded, "you disappoint me. We have taken you since you were twelve. Who was with you?" The maid pointed to a larger woman. "Thank you, Tilly." He nodded at his valet, who in turn ushered the maids out of the study.

The valet returned. "Is there anything else, Lord Bass?"

Blair watched with wide eyes as Bart nodded. "Dismiss the two of them. Give them their coins. And then give a stern warning to the rest of them."

Blair faced the earl after the valet had left. "There was no need to dismiss them. What of their livelihood?"

Bart shook his head. He proceeded to a small table in his study and poured himself some scotch. He swallowed the liquid. "It is not pleasant," he said. "But I would have you learn, Blair, that sentiment and pity are secondary. If they strike against you, you strike back with no remorse."

"And you are not at war," she responded lightly.

"Every day life is war," Bart told her. "No artillery, mayhap. But it is war nonetheless. I would have you be like Elizabeth. You should be prepared, ready to make difficult decisions, and survive to be a legend. There are casualties. You will not be one of them."

She nodded. Not her, not her child, not Chuck. She would hold on and become as strong as how Bart Bass wanted her to be.

"Will you survive and prosper in a world like this?" Bart asked her candidly.

At his question, she suddenly realized that the earl was aware at the very least of the treatment she had received so far from his own circle. "With your guidance," she answered.

Her words seemed to please the earl, because he smiled and nodded. "Now I will tell you something that must not frighten you. Like I said, you are my daughter now and you will be protected. But it would be remiss of me not to inform you of this."

Blair leaned forward. "What is it, my lord?"

"There are people who disapprove of my decision to keep you with me, or Chuck's sudden journey to America. Right now, Blair," he related, "we are not trusted. They fear that my loyalty has swayed."

The last person she knew whose loyalty had proven to have changed was Carter, and she had seen him last grappling with the claws of death. She remembered the rotting carcass of the cat lying just outside their house. "Have they threatened murder?" she asked softly.

At that, Bart nodded his head once, then placed a tentative hand on the swell of her belly. "We will be more cautious from now on. Whoever is bloodthirsty in London had only whetted his appetite with Carter." Blair felt the fear climb in her throat. She could not end up like Carter, not now that she and Chuck were about to start a life of their own. "You will be safe, Blair. I swear it."

~o~o~o~o~o~

Ever since Roman Vanderbilt's murder, the family had surrounded him for protection. Even when he had been sent to work with Blair Waldorf, his grandfather had assumed completely that Nathaniel would be better served knowing little about the war. Initially, the capture of Carter Baizen and Chuck Bass would have proven that he was far better revolutionary intelligence than the movement had given him credit for. But his first mission resulted in Lord Bass sailing away to England and his own fiancé bleeding from his own bullet on the docks.

Yet over time he had proven his worth in the movement. He had taken the wide gap left when both Blair Waldorf and Daniel Humphrey sailed away and abandoned the cause. His grandfather had been reluctant, but Nathaniel had provided the movement with countless tips on Redcoat locations that Mr Vanderbilt finally accepted Nate's contributions.

"Is that it?" Nathaniel asked as he buttoned his shirt.

The woman on the bed gathered the sheets in front of her, then nodded. "That's what I heard."

Vanessa served as a waitress in the pub across the printing press, and since their involvement had been his eyes and ears. Drunken officers often did not tame their mouths in the presence of the pretty barmaid, and it worked to their advantage.

Nate leaned down on the bed and dropped a kiss on her lips. "Let me know if you learn anything else."

"I always do," Vanessa assured him.

Nate grabbed his coat from the chair, then straightened. He felt the a cold cylinder barrel rest at the back of his skull.

"Drop your coat," he heard a man say. The accent was British, familiar. Nate placed his coat back down. His pockets were empty and he had only just put on his shirt. His weapons were on the chair. Nate's gaze settled on Vanessa, who watched with worry but, much to Nate's chagrin, no surprise.

"You set me up," Nate said in realization. What better way to disarm him than to get him naked and sated. "You've been working for them."

"I haven't," Vanessa swore. "But he's an old friend, Nate. And he told me things." She grabbed her discarded dress and pulled it over her head. "You shot Blair Waldorf."

"She was a traitor," Nate spat out.

"You shot her in the back!" Vanessa cried. "That is not acceptable, no matter what she was. I knew her, Nate. I know there is no way she would be working against her own country. Do you know how much she and Daniel labored over at the newspaper?"

Nate huffed. "So you disapprove of that but you would have this coward shoot me at the back of the head?"

And then, the man grabbed him by the shoulder and turned him around, then pushed his back to the wall. Nate blinked and made out the features of the man in the dark room. "There. Remember me, Archibald?"

"Fuck," Nate muttered. "I knew you were going to come back. We should have killed you in Boston when we had the chance."

Chuck placed his gun under Nate's chin. "Yes, you should. But you didn't. I'm here to make you pay for what you did to Blair. And for killing Carter Baizen, asshole."

"I didn't do anything to Baizen," Nate hissed. "I should have!"

"Nate, stop!" Vanessa cried. "I can't—You shot an innocent woman."

"She was working with them!" Nate retorted.

"She was running away from the war because we wanted to live our life at peace," Chuck clarified. "I don't care about this war. England and America can both sink into the ocean for all I care. All I cared about was taking her away from this."

Nate chuckled. "Then we both fail. Baizen went in and swept her away, married her before I could blink. He took her to England." His eyes widened. "Is that why you're here ready to put the blame on me? Did you see them in the motherland? Are they happy, Bass?"

Chuck squeezed his eyes shut. His finger danced on the trigger. "Because of you, Carter went back to a country that had labeled him a traitor. We buried him last week."

"One less influential man to turn his back on his country when it's most convenient," Nate said without remorse.

Chuck gently squeezed at the trigger. Vanessa flew up from the bed, then gripped his arm. "Wait."

Chuck looked down at the woman and saw the sheer terror in her eyes. "He needs to die," Chuck whispered.

"Blair's alive," she repeated. "I thought when you said he shot her, that he killed her." She shook her head. "Please don't. He's not a murderer. Just… please."

The way she pleaded, in her panic, reminded him of the desperation he felt when Blair first said goodbye in Victrola. Redeemable or not, Nathaniel Archibald had someone who loved him, whose heart would break if he blasted a cap off Nate's head. Chuck lowered the gun.

"Get away," Chuck commanded. "Now."

Nathaniel grabbed his coat and scurried out of the room. The door shut with a thud. Chuck turned to the waitress he had met when he was playing a role months ago, before the war, and all he could think about was winning Blair Waldorf.

"You do realize that even though you saved his life, you have lost him," Chuck stated to Vanessa.

Vanessa nodded, then settled down to sit on the mussed bed. "I know."

"Then the way you begged for his life is useless."

Vanessa shook her head. "He's alive."

Chuck snorted at the young woman. There was no revenge to be had in America. He needed to make his way back to Boston undetected and sail home. He needed to close the book on this. Chuck strode down the dark streets, then saw the lone figure at the end. He turned around, and saw the silhouette on the other end. He looked to the left and saw several men holding rifles trained on him.

Shit.

Nathaniel Archibald emerged from the shadows. His golden hair glinted like it was on fire as it reflected the light of the lamps.

"Lord Bass," Nate spat out the title, "you are under arrest."

Chuck remained still as a man grabbed his wrists and tied them at his back. He would find a way to be freed, and there was no way he would provide them with the slightest reason to murder him and pass it off as self-defense for a prisoner resisting arrest.

"The brown house four doors down," Nate continued. "Tell Vanessa Abrams she is under arrest for treason." Nate saw Chuck looking at him with disgust. He explained, "This is war, Bass."

tbc


	20. Chapter 20

**AN: **I don't like saying this, but for this poor fic, I will say it – Please read and review.

**Part 20**

The second she extended a hand to him, the moment she dared him to run away, Dan Humphrey had turned his back on the two most important missions in his life. And yet Lady Georgina buttoned up her dress and brushed a comb through her hair with nary a sign of guilt or repentance.

"I abandoned my cause of my country for you," Dan stated to Georgina's tense back. She did not turn, so he continued, "I abandoned a young woman, whose life was in danger the last I saw of her. She is my best friend, Georgina, but I left her when you asked me to come with you."

Lady Georgina turned her head, and her brown hair fell in waves past her shoulders. She gave him a smile, then clarified, "And every night since we were together is not enough for you?"

He sat up, then slid further down the bed, close enough so that when he reached out he caught her hand. "Every night was spectacular," he assured her. "But it cannot only be the nights, Georgie."

Her eyes narrowed. Georgina pulled her hand out of his. "It has to be, Dan. I cannot bring you to my father. You know that."

"You will allow the war to make your decisions for you?" Dan said in disbelief. "Meanwhile I abandoned my best friend in a foreign country!"

"It's England!" Georgina snapped. "Not some terrible olden nation with cultures so ancient she would be lost."

"I am not your dirty secret!" Dan insisted. "I came here to speak for the cause of America, and I stood in front of the House and did so. Respectfully," he added. "There is no shame in being with me."

"You're an insurgent," Georgina explained. "And my father—"

"—is empowered to call off the whole lot of it. Lord Sparks can influence the House and he can stop any bloodshed."

"There is no bloodshed," Georgina whispered.

But Daniel was as sheltered as the woman who had consumed many of his nights these past weeks. In the countryside where they had retired, the fields were green, and when it rained he smelled the soil that smelled much like America on the mornings when the farmers tilled the land. This was all that she saw while Daniel still woke up at night seeing the blood pool under Blair, watched the dark fluid seep into the wooden planks of the dock. Sometimes he would cross the street and stop, would force himself to blink away the images of four young men falling under enemy fire. And then, at a loud noise, Dan would start at the initial fear of the canons that they launched by the pier.

"Georgie, you and I are not the same," Daniel told her. "People are dying at home. And I lay here at night losing myself inside of you."

And her eyes showed her terror when she turned back to him. She grasped his hands this time, brought them to her chest. "Then be grateful you are here safe with me."

"I am not that kind of man."

"You were for so long now," she pointed out. "Do not change now."

And he so he kissed her, because she was fearful and honest. It was not her sin that she tempted him, but his for falling under the spell of her eyes. When she had walked up to him in her bridal gown and offered her hand, he thought of Serena and her husband, and sank into Lady Georgina's bottomless eyes.

"I'm not that man," he repeated.

"So what would you do?" she demanded. "Will you be like your rebel countrymen? Would you throw away such wonderful life and immerse yourself in that insurgence? Are you so noble and stupid that you would offer yourself up to die back there?"

Dan released a heavy breath. He extracted his hand from Georgina and stood up from the bed. He looked for his clothes and gathered them from where they had fallen from the floor. "Georgina, when this is over I will return and you and I can speak about a future."

"There is no need," she said with spite.

By the time he came back, Dan knew he would cross the street and meet her. By that time she would be a married lady with a child in her arms. Her father would have found out about her nights with an American named Daniel Humphrey—a penniless writer—and coupled with Society's knowledge of her failed wedding to Lord Bass, Georgina would be offered to the suitor next in line who would still have her. That was how this culture worked.

"If you can wait for me, Georgie, I swear to you—"

"If you leave me now, do not come back for me, Dan," she told him. "Your choice. Stay with me here and be safe. Or leave me now and leave me forever."

"Georgina—" And then, because the nights had been perfect and there could be such promise waiting for them, he offered, "Let me go back to London and find Blair. Let me see with my own eyes that Carter has fulfilled his promise and she is safe with Chuck Bass."

Georgina glared, but her eyes held less of the venom he expected. Dan's brows furrowed. His fingers slowed their work on his buttons. "There is something you are not telling me."

Georgina's gaze lowered to the ground.

"Georgina."

So she finally nodded. "I have suffered a loss as well, Dan." She paused. "Carter was one of my closest friends."

"Was," he breathed.

"He's dead. By now, he is, I'm certain. There was talk on the streets of his assassination. After his speech at the House he had displeased many of the groups who used to adore him," she informed Dan. And then she held up his hand, as if she knew his next terror. "Blair Waldorf is still in the Bass mansion. Chuck's gone and brought Carter back to America."

Dan released a harsh breath. His knees grew weak, and he fell sitting onto the edge of the bed. "Carter's dead," he repeated. It had been such a simple plan they had, he thought back. Once he found out about the circumstances that Blair found herself in, they had gone to Carter Baizen. In the safety of Baizen's Boston, they had been invulnerable. They could execute any plan. Especially one that had been as simple as spiriting Blair Waldorf to England so she could reunite with Chuck Bass.

None of them ever entertained the possibility that one would not survive.

"So Blair is alone?" he emphasized, focusing instead on the one he had a chance of saving.

"Blair Waldorf is with Lord Bass. She is not alone."

The man had been imposing. The earl was a legend, and when Dan saw him he had been in awe. "He's a stranger," Dan stressed.

Georgina set her jaw. "He will protect her. She is carrying Carter's child. The earl adored Carter. He will do all he possibly can to keep your friend safe." And then she frowned. "Dan, before we left, there was some talk about how people do not trust the earl. He had been wavering, and many of his groups fear him turning against what is beneficial for England. Nobody knows who they are. But they're radicals and they cannot be contained. It started with Carter—"

~o~o~o~o~o~

She stared at herself in the mirror.

It was the richest dress she had ever worn. In fact, it was thrice more luxurious than the best clothes she owned when she had been wealthy and her family not ravaged by scandal. The gown fell on her body like oil, and it sluiced down her curves with such familiarity that she almost blushed at her reflection in the mirror.

'Marry rich,' her mother had advised her. 'Take the merchant prince, no matter how old. Settle for the brother with no title, as long as he can feed you and you have a nice solid roof over your head.'

They had run out of choices. Back home, it had been a race to the altar. Back home, there was no time or place for love. Back home, it was a matter of survival.

But the world had turned the way it did, and she found herself desperately in love with a man who had no money and no future.

Now she was again a scandal. This time, it was her own creation. Her belly swelled and was now prominent under her rich person's gown. While none of the servants spoke about her after the last two who did were dismissed by the earl, any other person who met her could, and did.

Yet Lord Bartholomew insisted on making her part of his world. Dressed in clothes that were too beautiful for an American lawyer's daughter, she entered the last dinner party and nodded politely at the hostess. She was Lord Bass' companion, so she was greeted despite who she was not.

"Lord Bass," Lady Carlisle said with a welcoming smile. "Lord Carlisle is in the salon with the viscount." She turned to Blair and said, "And Mrs Baizen. What a wonderful necklace."

Blair's hand climbed to the diamonds and emeralds around her neck. It was Chuck's mother's, the earl told her when he fastened the clasp at her nape.

"Thank you."

"Did you ever think you would wear such a treasured piece?" Lady Carlisle asked her as she looped her arm around Blair's and pulled her to the opposite side of the room.

"I—I didn't."

"Lady Carlisle," she heard Bartholomew call. Blair and the hostess both turned to the earl. "Do you not think the necklace suits Blair?"

And the woman was flustered. She responded, "The necklace is amazing, my lord. I had always thought so. It was your wife's favorite, was it not?"

Blair's lips parted.

"Tell Blair that it suits her," he suggested, though it came out more as a command. "She will be living with my wife's jewelry for a lifetime."

"My lord? Surely you are mistaken. These are family jewels."

"The ladies of the house own them," Bart agreed. "And Blair will marry my son once he returns."

By that Sunday, news had spread in town. She grew more each day, and congratulations on her engagement was published in the Times as barely hidden malice. And still the earl took her in the rounds to the finest balls that London shamelessly threw amidst the battles fought by its own people offshore.

Yet they talked. They whispered. They greeted her with a smile and gave her pleasant praises on her clothes, her hair, her jewelry. They spoke to her of their own travels to America and the beauty of her home.

But no one spoke of her child. No one dared comment on the swollen belly that was too large to have been conceived in England.

"I cannot be placed on display again," she said. "I know what they think of me. They suspect me of such awful things."

"You are going to become a countess," the earl told her when he entered into the frame of the reflection in the mirror. She held her breath, then met his eyes. "When my son returns, you will be one of the wealthiest women in England, Blair."

"They know that," she argued. "You made certain they know I will be the countess. And even so, they gossip about me. I will not give them the satisfaction of putting myself and my child on display again."

His eyes narrowed. "Did you truly expect anything different, Blair? People are the same here or in America. The fact is that you are in their eyes Mrs Baizen. You are large with child and you will marry my son. It is fodder for gossip. They are merely human."

"They make me feel like an adulteress, when all I am is an unwed mother!"

At that, Bart's eyebrows shot up. Her eyes widened. And then she let out a soft chuckle.

Bart said, "Is that better for you? Is that what you would prefer?"

She laughed, then shook her head.

"I will meet you at the foyer," the earl told her. "Just remember, Blair. You will be the countess. They are nothing compared to you."

Blair waited until the door closed behind the earl before turning back to the mirror. She assessed her reflection, then smiled. She wished to heaven that Chuck could see her now. She was every bit worthy of being on his arm.

She felt, rather than heard, the change in the air. She placed a hand on her swollen abdomen, then walked slowly to the door. Blair pressed her ear up on the door. She heard the noises, the scuffles, the screams. She pressed her hand up over her mouth, then backed away from the door.

Blair ran to the window and saw the hooded figures flood into the mansion. They bore lit torches. She peered and caught the glint of a weapon on the waistband of one.

And then there was pounding. Stomping. She heard the cry from down below, and hoped that the servants had made it out.

And then she felt the blood pumping in her head, her limbs, her entire body. With her heart in her throat, she pulled the door open and ran down the steps. Blair bumped into one of the men, who caught her arm and dragged her towards the study.

She found the earl on his knees, blindfolded. A man behind him held a gun to the back of his head.

"Oh God! Let him go. Please!" she cried out. "Who are you?"

"Blair," the earl said quietly, firmly. "Walk out of the house now."

"It's the rebel whore," spat the gunman. "You thought carrying a bastard would buy you the life you so desperately want, whore?"

Bart grunted, and the gun pressed deeper into his skull. She thrust up her chin, because the earl did not spend months on nothing. "How dare you?" she responded scathingly. "My fiance is the only heir to the earl. My son will become earl. You are not allowed to speak to me like that."

To her surprise, the man drew the gun away from Bart. Her heart stopped when he walked over to her. "The only heir," the man repeated. Blair's breath caught in her throat when the gun pointed directly at her belly. "Little rebel whores aren't allowed to speak to me. Little rebel whores aren't allowed to live long enough to spawn little mixed breed bastards," the man hissed.

Nathaniel Archibald's bullet did not kill her, and that was good American ammunition. She would die before she allowed an English gun to off her. Blair pulled her arm quickly from her captor, who did not expect the move and stumbled when she pushed. His torch dropped to the ground, then caught the hem of her gown. Blair yelped and pulled away, then quickly killed the flame.

The torch rolled to the curtain and the thin cloth burst. And then, like falling tiles one curtain lit then another, then another until the whole of the study was ablaze with fire. The men around her cursed and made their way out the door. Blair ran towards the earl and undid his blindfold. She fell to her knees and undid the rope that tied his wrists together at his back.

The air was sucked out by the flames, and the heat made her vision blur. She pulled at the ropes until her hands bled.

"Leave," Bart commanded her.

She shook her head. Her eyes watered, and she wept. It was the dry heat, she told herself, and not the certainty of their death. The servants were gone, and there was no help to be had. Finally, she managed to pull Bart Bass up. The old man refused to lean against her although she knew he had already been hurt.

They stumbled out of the room. The door opened and revealed Bart's valet.

"I will take him," the valet yelled at her.

She glanced up at the earl, who nodded, then told her. "I will be fine, Blair."

"The entire house is on fire!" she realized, as she glanced up and saw the corridors being licked by blue and orange flames.

The earl turned to the valet, then gave a quiet, irrational demand. "Get my wife's box. Give it to her. And then I will go with you."

To Blair's surprise, the valet cursed, then released Bart Bass. The man sprinted up the steps and returned with the injured box. The valet returned minutes later and grasped Blair's hand, pulled her out of the house through the falling debris. He dropped the box to the ground, causing the cover to unhinge. Pieces of sparkling jewelry spilled out. "Courtesy of the late Lord Bass, Mrs Baizen," he said.

Her eyes fell to the man's hand, and saw the gun. She cried out in shock. And then the man was gone. The frame of the door leading back into the house fell, barring her way. Blair bolted, but then someone caught her arm, and then she was trapped in arms so tight she could not breathe.

"You're alive!"

She screamed, because it was a senseless statement in the midst of it all. Blair screamed, and she fought against the restraining embrace. Her body twisted, but she could not escape.

She screamed.

"It's Dan," came the soothing voice. "It's Dan. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Blair. I'm back." And she blinked, but her eyes could see nothing but shadows. He bent down and picked up her box. It was hers now. The earl had said it was.

"We have to save him. We have to save Chuck's father!" But the house was falling in itself, and the flames were large and hopeless. The shadows around her had gathered, and some even in futile attempt to throw buckets of water at the burgeoning destruction. "Save him," she pleaded with them.

tbc


	21. Chapter 21

**AN: **I just reread Yesterday's Roses. Makes me remember just how much I adore British history.

Oh, and I want to say – I really love historical fics.

**Part 21**

Blair huddled under the thick blankets that Dan had collected from the household. He had thrown the blankets over her shivering form, and wisely rubbed warmth into her hands as her teeth chattered.

"Speak to me, Blair," he urged.

But she stared at a point in the distance and rocked herself instead. She shook her head, and her tears continued to flow.

Daniel was concerned for her, for the child. Her hands were ice cold. He had seen it before, in the early legs of the rebellion. Boys of fifteen were asked to take up arms for the first time. There was one boy in particular, who shot dead a Redcoat at the bridge when gunfire erupted, who saw the vacant eyes of the British corpse. He had been insensible for hours, and almost slipped into a place where there was no coming back.

"It is over," he said. She closed her eyes, and still cried. "You are safe. You are in Carter's house." Her house now, but there was no need for a reminder of another death.

She made noises in her throat, and would not open her eyes. He had been with Georgina for weeks, and during that time she had spent her time with the earl. Just as Georgina had informed him, belatedly so. Chuck sailed to America to take Carter to his father, and since then Blair had depended on no one but Bartholomew Bass.

Who most assuredly was dead.

"The earl wanted you safe, Blair. I do not doubt it. He wanted you and his grandchild to be safe." He sighed. "And you are. Take comfort."

"Carter," she whispered.

He had opened the topic when he mentioned the house, so he nodded. "Carter as well. We wanted you to be happy so we took you here. And Carter made certain you are safe from the threats."

"He's dead," she said. "And Lord Bass. Dead."

Dan sighed. He moved to take her in his arms.

She pushed him away and yelled, "Do not touch me. Do not come close to me." She looked at him with terror in his eyes. "You will die!"

"Blair, stay calm." He moved to hold her, to comfort her, but she raced away from him and stopped by the stairs. Dan's heart caught in his throat. "I am not going to die, Blair. I am here to stay." He raised his hands. "Please step away from there."

She shook her head and sobbed. "Everyone is dying. Everyone is being killed. Everyone."

"Chuck is alive," he said slowly.

She gasped for breath. "If he were, he would have been back. Where is he, Daniel? It has been two months. He should have come for me a fortnight past."

He took a careful step towards her. She flinched, as if she suspected that the closer he came to her the sooner he would die. "Has it been two months?" he said softly, needing to calm her from the shock. "I did not notice it. But you are right. It seems like two months. Your child is growing large."

At the reminder, she glanced down at her swollen belly. She placed her hand over it.

"In but a while you will give birth to your child. Come, Blair. I wish to see if the fire harmed you."

He released a sigh of relief when she took the first step towards him. Daniel grasped her hand and pulled her away from the steps. "I should not have left," he said quietly, keeping her mind away from the terrible things that happened. "It seems I am a man, easily led by temptation."

The plan, of course, had been Carter Baizen's. Who else but Carter Baizen could think of a plan so harebrained as one that required Daniel Humphrey to seduce Chuck Bass' bride?

"Who else but I could so completely, epically fail a simple plan and fall in love for real?" he muttered.

"Did you truly love her?" she asked softly.

"As selfish as she was, I can say that I truly did, Blair."

She bit her lip. "Then you should place her above me. Daniel, best friends come first only until we fall in love." Her words hurt a little, but he had taken her mind off the death of Bartholomew and the terror of the burning mansion. "Out there in Victrola, I agreed to go to England with Chuck. I was completely prepared to abandon you." She smiled. "Indeed, I did not spare you a thought, Daniel."

He had been running around with Nathaniel Archibald then, in pursuit of the two men who would eventually teach him the most important lessons of all. From Carter he would learn what it meant to love a father. From Chuck he would find out that true love went above country, your family, yourself.

But Daniel would prefer to believe that he himself had a virtue that others would learn from, and that was that friendship came first of all. "I will not go back to Georgina until I know you are safe."

"There is no safety here!" she said quietly. "They have killed Carter, and now they have killed the earl." Both events Daniel had missed. "I fear for my son's life here." With a trembling hand, she unclasped the bracelet on her wrist, then held it up to Daniel. "I must secure passage to America."

He shook his head. "No. It is almost time. No ship will allow you aboard. Especially not these days."

"These are diamonds," she stated. "There will be a ship captain who will give me passage in exchange for this." Dan stubbornly set his jaw. "If you will not help me, Daniel, I will secure my trip myself."

But Daniel had left Georgina and her bed, for his friend. He had been happy with Georgina. At the very least he expected some gratitude. Irrational, he thought. No one asked him to abandon Lady Georgina. It was his own conscience he battled then.

"What do you expect to do, Blair? Will you scour the country in search for one man?"

"Yes!"

He hissed. "Do you even know if he is in Boston? New York? Virginia?"

"There are only two reasons that Chuck has not come home to me," Blair answered. "He is held against his will, and that will only be done in New York."

"And the other reason?" Daniel pressed.

"I dare not say it," she told him softly.

~o~o~o~o~

Serena had been missing her. Awfully so. When she had learned of Blair's wedding to Carter Baizen, Serena had raced to the docks only to find that she had already sailed away. Serena had lost her best friend, and she mourned it.

Everyone said she was beautiful. When she married Jack Bass, all her friends thought she was the most fortunate person in the world. She was set for life, and Jack seemed unwilling to go back to England.

He entered the room, and Serena looked up. "I'm having a baby," she declared.

Jack's eyebrows shot up in surprise. His voice was tentative when he said, "You do not seem happy."

So Serena turned back to the mirror and stared at herself, then tied her gold hair up in a bun. "I always dreamed that I'd raise my children together with Blair, you know." She smiled sadly. "That she would have her babies and we would be neighbors. And now it's coming to me. I've lost my best friend."

And she was going to have a baby with a man she did not love as much as she did the one that she drove away.

"The night I met Blair Waldorf, and she confided in me her mother's scheme for her to marry me, I asked her if that was what she wanted. Do you know what she said?"

"Blair wanted to make her mother happy above all else," Serena answered her husband. "She said yes."

Jack nodded, but corrected her, "There are worse fates than to be married to you."

"What?"

"That is what she told me. There are worse fates. Yet here you are, married to me, untouched by this war almost. I have given you a child. And yet you seem to be the most miserable woman in the world." Jack frowned. "Almost like this is the worst fate a woman can have."

"We're different—Blair and I," Serena stated. "She wanted her mother happy. I married you because my family abhorred the man I loved. Now… I want to be happy, Jack."

"Everyone wants to be happy," Jack said. "Even Blair."

Even Blair.

And through the friendship that she formed with Nathaniel Archibald in that long ago morning when Blair abandoned both of them, she learned about the capture. Finally, it was her chance to find her friend. One night she asked Nathaniel to take her to Chuck Bass' prison cell. The man looked grim as he sat in the corner of the cell.

"My name is Serena van der Woodsen," she said in a thin voice.

"Bass," Chuck said quietly.

"Right. Right." She hesitated. "Serena van der Woodsen Bass. I'm your uncle's wife."

"Well hello, auntie," the lord replied. "I remember you. Anything I can help you with? Or have you come to help release your new nephew from prison?"

She gripped the bar on the cell, and asked, "Where is she, Lord Bass?"

Chuck turned his head and assessed her, then moved his gaze to Nate as he stood behind Serena. "Forgive me, auntie," Chuck snarled, "if I do not trust any of you with that answer."

"Please. She is my best friend," Serena said. "I need to know that she is safe and unharmed."

"She's safe," Chuck said.

"Is she in England?" Nate demanded. "In London?"

Chuck ignored Nate. To Serena, he said, "She is safer where she is now than here where your companion would most assuredly throw her in jail for not marrying him."

"She committed treason during a time of war!" Nate exclaimed. "Do not dare make light of the charges, or accuse me of having acted unfairly. I did my duty."

And Chuck calmly said to Serena, "You will not learn of her location from me."

So Serena returned home with no address, but her heart was light. Her best friend was alive. One of these days she would go to England with her husband and she would find Blair.

When she looked at herself in the mirror, Serena could not comprehend what all the others saw. Her hair glowed under the moonlight. Certainly. Her hair was the color of wheat, and it would naturally shine like so.

Her husband strode into the room and removed his smoking jacket. He placed it on top of her dresser, over her brushes and powder. She pursed her lips. She saw the folded parchment sticking from the pocket. There was a wax seal on it, one she did not recognize.

"You have a letter from England," she said.

Jack continued getting ready for bed. "Aye. It's from my family solicitor."

Serena straightened in her seat. It had been months since Chuck Bass had been captured. In that period the young lord has battled his way to the colonial court to insist that he was innocent. Any other man and Chuck Bass would have long swung from the rafter after a decision of guilty. In fact, a young woman who had been charged with conspiracy for colluding with Lord Bass—who was arrested for treason for helping him in a plot against Nathaniel Archibald—had been judged guilty as was executed a week after her arrest.

She had been unable to speak to Nathaniel the entire week following the execution. When she asked Nathaniel about the woman—Vanessa Abrams, Nathaniel said her name had been—he had only just said that it was justice.

Yet Chuck Bass had sparked another outrageous impasse between the colonials in New York and those in Boston.

She had learned it from Nate, and so she shared, "Abram Baizen had sent his own men to defend Chuck Bass at trial."

"This is why this war is impossible to win," Jack had commented once at the breakfast table. "Too many factions, too many divisions."

"Would you rather your nephew be found guilty?"

"Guilty or innocent. Just make the judgment quicker," Jack expressed. "In any way, if they find him guilty, there is no way Chuck would be executed. The quicker then that England would demand for his return."

They could not now ask for Jack to help free him. They had a tenuous stature in their community now, with everyone suspect of Jack. He had not actively participated in any activity of the war, and the dozens of skirmishes that erupted in the different cities.

There was no place for it, no time. They were only just building their livelihood.

"What do they want?"

Jack sat down and informed his wife, "I am to return to England."

"For what reason?"

"Bartholomew has died and Chuck is missing. I have been invited to take the title and the estates."

Serena's eyes narrowed. "Chuck Bass is alive and in prison," she reminded her husband. "Do you mean you have not informed any of your solicitors?"

"Serena, I have waited long for this. I have given up on it." He licked his lips. "This is my chance."

When he had fallen asleep, she took the letter from his jacket and read through the plea. She needed to go to England, needed to find Blair. But the content of the letter was horrendous at best. She folded the letter and slipped it into her pocket.

The prison was dark when she arrived. She nodded at the guard who allowed her through. Serena placed a lamp atop the table and proceeded to the cell.

"Lord Bass," she whispered.

From the mat on the floor, Chuck opened his eyes and looked at her. Serena knelt on the ground and extended the letter to him. Chuck did not move to take it. Serena said, "I sincerely pray that you have not left Blair in the care of your father."

At that, Chuck stumbled to the bars and grabbed the letter from Serena's hand. He read through the message quickly, then his horrified gaze met hers.

"There were seven bodies retrieved from the house," Serena said quietly. "None of them were recognizable. Please, Lord Bass, tell me you did not leave my best friend in your father's house."

The letter floated on air for a moment, swung right to left and fluttered at the corners and it drifted down to the ground. Her heart sank the way the paper did.

Chuck Bass stepped backwards, then sat quietly on the wooden chair in his cell.

"Lord Bass," Serena repeated.

With no response, Serena made her way out of the prison. She had been a few yards away by the time he heard the deep howling scream. Her arms prickled. She quickened her pace as she made her way back home. She sat by the bed and looked down at her husband.

Jack opened his eyes and met her eyes. He took her hand. "What is it, Serena?"

"I had a thought—" Serena said in a hoarse voice. She crawled into bed beside him, then pillowed her head on his arm. "There are far worse fates than what we have."

"Taking a lesson from Blair Waldorf, I see," Jack commented.

Serena closed her eyes and burrowed in his arms. It was no heaven, she thought. In her childhood dreams, heaven was in the arms of Daniel Humphrey. But life happened and he was completely unsuitable. But Jack was here, and he was all that Cece Rhodes had wished for her.

This was no heaven.

But Blair had journeyed far to find her own piece of heaven, to end in this nothingness.

The next day she learned from Nathaniel that Chuck Bass had decided to send Abram's lawyers back to Boston and to face the court with a plea of guilty.

Yes, she would take a lesson from Blair Waldorf. This marriage was no heaven. But, Serena decided, there were far worse fates than this.

tbc

Almost all the character goals have been achieved. And so, we are almost done.


	22. Chapter 22

**AN: **So when the idea captures you, you cannot let it go. I think HIYE won't let me go until I've written it all out. And do leave me a note. Oh and yes, thank you so much to those who reviewed. This story really needs you. : - )

**Part 22**

The land was right there. Her land, her home. At those very docks was a little place as far from propriety as possible, and in the future it would likely be torn down to become a respectable hotel for businessmen and travelers. But it was the place where she had conceived her child in a night she had taken for herself, to take with her as a reminder of what it felt to love.

That was home out there. She could tell. Despite the thick fog that surrounded them, Blair could tell that it was America. She could tell even if she closed her eyes. This was home, and this was what she had fought for so long and so hard. This was the country for which she had near given up the world. If she could not see it, if she were only asked to feel, she would know the precise moment they drew near.

She had nearly died on that dock. In an effort to escape, to become a part of his world, she had bled into those wooden planks.

The snow was falling hard around them. She walked across the deck and huddled under her coat. The force of the wind was strong, and she bent her head to shield her face.

"Blair, return to your cabin!" Daniel yelled.

His voice was carried far by the wind. She looked up right at the gust of a wind so strong she slipped on the icy boards of the deck. Blair found herself on her hands and knees. She winced at the impact, but brought herself up to her feet.

But they were mere movements to the dock, an hour at best before the ship dropped anchor and she could go on her search for her lord. She held on to the railing until her muscles ached with the effort. But she would not descend to her cabin, not when they were close. She huddled under her coat and watched in anticipation as the ship drew ever closer.

In the month that they had been at sea, the tides of war had shifted. Where once the tension was thick enough to be cut by a knife, they returned to open war.

Once the ship dropped anchor, Daniel saw at once the glint of a musket from the dock. He dove to her despite the icy floor and kept an arm around her back as they huddled to the corner.

"Hold fire!" Daniel yelled amidst the gunfire.

Yet neither the men on the ship—who defended themselves against the attack—or the men at the docks—who were tasked to protect the port—would heed him.

The first mate called out instructions to the passengers and the crew. There was a small boat to take them to another British ship, farther from the docks. "Climb down the ladder from the aft and you will be shielded from the attack."

Daniel twined his fingers with hers.

Blair grabbed his arm and said, "I am not leaving here. You will not make me go."

"They will not stop to ask if you are an American," he grunted. "No one from this ship will set foot on American soil, Blair. Clearly, war has been declared."

She shook her head. "I have been at sea a month. I will see with my own eyes what has become of Chuck Bass. Please, Dan. There is no tomorrow until I know."

"You will see nothing if you're shot between the eyes."

She had so many lives. Once it was Carter who saved her, and another time it had been the earl. "I have come for Chuck, Daniel. But you must leave. Leave for Lady Georgina's sake."

But Daniel shook his head, cupped her cheek with his hand, and said softly, "You do not understand still. For someone so intelligent as you, you cannot comprehend what is right in front of you."

The first mate yelled at them to board the small dinghy down below. "Save yourselves!" the man barked sharply at them.

But it was leading away from America, saving the poor ignorant souls who traveled to the land when war was only just a distant possibility, and the skirmishes were nothing but little bursts of insurgency. Yet the king's edict came while they were in transit, and they had anchored to a whole new world.

At Blair's refusal, the first mate called for the boat to leave.

The rest of the passengers carried what meager belonging they could pack on bundled cloths. "May God have mercy on your soul," said a woman passenger from the boat.

And then Daniel stood. The dock was deserted now. He spied the boat maneuvering through the icy water on its way to the steamship. The captain frantically called for the anchor to be pulled, but the drop had been recent and the ice thick.

"They are on their way. They will board, and they will kill every last one of us."

Blair slowly stood and saw the strange young countrymen who seemed miserable with cold and hungry for blood. Out here, installed on posts so far from the civilized town, it was so easy to become such.

Daniel grabbed her hand and pulled her to the wooden railing. He frantically searched for another dinghy, but all had been used. Blair glanced behind them and saw the men had climbed aboard the ship. One had lit a fire to the sail. Her eyes widened at the memory of the blazing fire that consumed the Bass manor.

The dark roaring in her ear brought her attention to the mast. The creak came from the flapping sail. She screamed as it fell. Daniel pulled her in criss cross paths across the slippery boards.

A gunshot. The captain cursed and fell to his knees.

Daniel raised his hands and declared, "My name is Daniel Humphrey. I am from New York." The young Colonial raised his rifle and pointed it at him. "I am Daniel Humphrey from New York," he repeated.

"Lie to me, why don't you, you Brit," the young man muttered. "You would be a lying scumbag in the face of my bullet."

Blair clutched at her stomach, and Daniel recognized fear in her face for the first time. "You have to believe us!"

But the boy was trained only for one thing. And he could not blame him—not for everything he had seen.

"I grew up in Manhattan, in the red brick building by fifth. My father was Harold Waldorf, and he was a lawyer," her voice trailed off. "And I have missed my home so. I should see my mother, if she is still there. And my dear dear maid Dorota—"

The young boy did not budge. Daniel looked down at the choppy waters down below. There was a clearing down there. Just a small one. The boy cocked the gun and he could see the slow, deliberate squeeze of the trigger.

She covered her face with one arm, and held to her stomach with the other. Daniel slammed his body onto hers with enough force to propel their two bodies over the railing. He held onto her around her belly and took the force of the wooden railing as they crashed and tumbled over it.

Blair took a deep breath as they fell through the air, then clutched at Daniel's neck as they hurtled into the ice cold water.

The cold water snaked around her ankles, dragging her down into the bottomless pit. Her child was heavy; Daniel was heavy. She was sinking and the arms around her loosened and slipped away. Her dress was soaked and heavier around her, and she found herself floating downwards into the ice cold embrace of the sea.

Breath left her body in a succession of bubbles that emerged from her mouth.

"What have you done, Blair?"

The voice was clear, so clear, like it was said into her ear. She turned around in the water but found no one.

"Coming home the way you did and to die before you've even stepped on the land. Shameful."

She half-sobbed under the water. 'Carter,' she realized.

She swallowed the water until it filled her stomach and her lungs. "You owe a visit to my father," he said.

And then, like she had called an angel, his arms surrounded her and lifted her up to the surface. Blair held tightly to his arms with her hands. He kicked upwards, as did she. But she had swallowed so much and she found her head falling back limply as they broke through the surface.

"Stay with me," she heard the muttered command faintly in her addled brain. It was Daniel Humphrey's arms around her, she observed, as her brain processed the remaining consciousness and Carter Baizen evaporated from her mind. "Stay with me."

There was no room for air, not in lungs filled with water. She closed her eyes, and there he was again. Her good friend, sitting in front of the fire in the grand house he had given her. They were in London, and the fireplace was warm and inviting. "There you are. I thought you and Daniel had a mission."

"I'm tired," she said. Because truly, carrying the child was labor in itself. "And it's snowing out."

"Well there's a place for you here," he said in his warm and friendly voice, nodding towards the cushioned seat before him. "Come. While the tea is hot. We will have breakfast in a while."

And she was so cold, so freezing cold.

Tendrils of smoke rose from the cup he held, inviting like the crook of a finger. "Hot tea sounds just the thing," she said as she reached for the cup.

~o~o~o~o~o~

On the day of Chuck Bass' execution, Serena and Jack stood at the forefront of the gathered crowd. The event became a feast, more like. Even in the snow there was a thick crowd of folks who had come to bear witness. The day Vanessa Abrams received her punishment the weather was lighter, and only small flakes floated from the sky, yet Nathaniel hardly noticed a crowd. A few bystanders there in the square, and they had been there even before the execution. It had been a pitiful turnout, and he had to remember that despite the heaviness on his shoulders Vanessa was merely a waitress. Traitor or not, the arrest did not elevate him in any way among the ranks of the Patriots.

But Chuck Bass' execution brought the crème de la crème to the square, wrapped in the expensive clothes that merchant princes and landowners could afford. His capture had been legendary, and his plea of guilty had come to Nathaniel as a blessing.

Of course Lord Bass was guilty, and Nathaniel had every right to arrest him. But with Abram Baizen a distant but everpresent player in the tides of war, there had always been a shadow that hung over Nate's one and most vital arrest. Despite the influence of the Vanderbilts in the political arena of New York, Abram Baizen was still more important than an upstart, a late joiner, such as Nathaniel Archibald.

Even now in dark alleys Patriots whispered of the suspicious circumstances that surrounded the incident at the docks by Victrola. Whether or not there was the presence of a sailing ship, and an English lord, he had still shot at the back Blair Waldorf. And Carter Baizen had been in the crossfire.

Death on the streets of London had only made him into a hero.

It was quite an unfair advantage of course. Nathaniel could not drag the Boston prince into the square the prove that he had more nefarious intent.

And so, when he learned that Chuck Bass had sent him a message, and that he now pled guilty to his crimes, Nathaniel knew he could now hold his head up high.

They were all there. He stood behind Chuck Bass as he led the way to the square. Nathaniel could see them—Serena, her husband. His grandfather stood to the side, where there was no crowd, and he could watch the proceedings with observant eyes. He could see the pride in his eyes.

Chuck Bass stood before him walking the steady march to the center of the square, where Nate's men could train their guns and fire on his command.

"Seven of my friends have already perished since the start of these skirmishes," Nathaniel said from behind Chuck Bass. "I hope you are ready to face your maker."

But Lord Bass did not respond. Indeed, it only served to fuel more his anger.

"Seven, Bass. Hale and hearty men as old as you or I. And they have been killed in battle."

"I have no answer to give you," Chuck said quietly.

And Nathaniel stopped. His grandfather looked cautiously on, but Nathaniel grabbed Chuck by his tied wrists and pulled the lord to him. "I need an answer. Seven of my friends, Bass. Seven of my friends. And I had lost my fiancé to this war, fled this country with Carter Baizen. She is dead to me. And by my own hand Vanessa Abrams is dead."

"I have no answer for you. I care not for war."

"You are in this midst of this," Nathaniel exclaimed in disbelief. "You sail to a country at war, and you held a gun to my face."

"I would rather I were home, in front of a fire," Chuck said to him, "with a family of my own. I care not for your war."

"Then why are you here?"

"For a friend. To fulfill a promise to a friend."

The Boston prince was dead. Shot dead in London, and they had only learned it at the time that he captured Bass. "You brought him home."

"This was Carter's war," Chuck said.

"Then why plead guilty? Why not allow Baizen's lawyers to argue for your freedom?"

Chuck trudged across the snow, his boots dragging, clearing a way for Nathaniel Archibald. Nate set his jaw at the lack of response. But Chuck would not give him an answer. They drew close to where Serena stood in tears with her husband.

When they passed, Jack Bass clutched at his nephew's arm. "I will have a child, Chuck," Jack informed him. "The family name will not die with us."

Chuck turned his head, and saw his uncle there. He looked at Serena next. "Congratulations."

Serena wiped at her tears hastily with her hand. "Is it because of me? Is it the news that I brought you?" she asked.

And Chuck gave her a grim smile. "I can never go home again," he said.

"What are you saying?"

Serena turned her tearful eyes at Nate. Chuck took his place at the center of the square, then stood up straight and stared back at the crowd. Nate removed the binding from Bass' wrists. Far be it to say that the Colonists murdered an English lord so helpless his hands were tied behind him.

Nathaniel raised a hand to bring the men to attention. Serena held her breath and she grasped her husband's arm. Nate counted in his head, because as many times as he had done this there was no way he could flag an execution as idly as a breath.

At the count of ten, he told himself.

The crowd fell into a hush. The snow fell harder, coating him and the gathered townspeople with a cold blanket.

Ten. Nine.

In the silence he heard the muttered prayers from the back, from a group of Quakers at the back. Nathaniel refused to stop or turn, because if he did he would find judgment in their eyes.

Eight. Seven.

He trained his eyes on Chuck Bass, who seemed not perturbed at all that rifles now were pointed at him. The triggers ready.

Six. Five.

And a gunshot. Nate started, half expecting red blood to blossom on Chuck Bass' chest. But his men now turned behind Nate, where the noise had apparently exploded. Nate turned his head and saw the lone rider burst into the crowd. In fear of the charging horse the townspeople parted. The man on the horse was not recognizable to him, but when the steed stopped at the center of the square, Nate saw the familiar figure thrust an arm towards Lord Bass and bark, "Get up behind me!"

"Daniel Humphrey!" Nate cried.

Serena stepped out of her husband's supportive embrace and called the same.

And Chuck Bass hesitated.

"Now!" Nathaniel yelled at his men who had been rattled by the interruption. There was a frantic move to return to their places.

"She's waiting for you!" Daniel exclaimed.

At the words, Lord Bass seemed to wake. He grasped at Daniel's forearm and hefted himself up onto the horse. With a rain of gunfire behind them, Daniel Humphrey's horse took off in a spray of mud and snow.

tbc


	23. Chapter 23

**AN: **So I have to admit. This was the scene that I had been working towards from the part where we find out that Blair was pregnant. Which was a long long long time ago.

**Part 23**

It was the world of Chuck Bass and Blair Waldorf, and he, Daniel Humphrey, just so happened to live in it. Chuck stumbled from the back of the horse and on to the thick snow, ten waded in the ice in sheer exhaustion and adrenaline. He cut through the knee-deep snow and fell onto his knees, his arms. He was frozen, his breath puffing white smoke before his face as he hurried towards the abandoned cabin yards away.

There was no word of gratitude. Chuck grunted as he forged his way towards where she was.

It was their world and Daniel could well now that Chuck knew where to find her.

"Lord Bass," Daniel called amidst the falling flakes. He realized this was the earl now, with Bartholomew Bass perished in the fire. He doubted Chuck even recognized it then. But Chuck Bass made his way through the near impossible snow and Daniel could not allow him to surge in so blind. Daniel jumped off his horse and caught up with Chuck, easier now that Bass' legs had cleared his path. He caught the earl's arm, and Chuck Bass glared at the grip that stalled him. Daniel continued, "We would have been murdered on deck, so I threw us over the railing of the ship."

"You need my thanks," Chuck said softly, in disbelief.

Daniel shook his head immediately left he be mistaken for one so vainglorious. "She is not well. The chill has set in her lungs and would not release her."

In truth, Daniel could hardly walk. Yet the need in her eyes and the desperation in her voice had pumped him full of the strength to ride in so fearlessly into the crowd. He shut his eyes briefly, for the cold had made them dry. Once he saw with his own eyes that she was reunited with her English lord, he would allow himself to fall, to rest a little, to sleep a wink. For now the blood was pulsing in his veins and he was fueled by his own promise.

And so he understood now how a man who claimed so passionately that he loved Blair Waldorf could leave her and their child behind to fulfill his word to Carter Baizen.

"She is ill," Chuck rasped. "And you had left her alone in this dump?"

Far be it for Daniel Humphrey to voice the way he had charged for him not a second before Nathaniel's men had blow him to little bloody English waste.

Chuck jerked his arm out of Daniel's grasp and pushed his way forward through the snow. He made it to the door. Daniel glanced back at the empty white sea of snow, filled with dread at the knowledge that in but a while the Colonists would come for them. They had not taken care to hide their tracks, so intent were they in reaching her.

Chuck Bass was not made for war. Twas true. Yet then again, neither was Daniel but for the sharp wit with which he wrote of war. Had it been any other man—even perhaps the boy who threatened to kill him aboard the ship—he would have done quite a better job at buying time by sweeping snow over their path.

When Chuck Bass opened the door, the room was nothing but a pit—and the only sight to see was her.

She lay twisted on the damp floorboards, atop a discarded gray cloth that served no purpose at all. It was wetter than the floor, Chuck realized. He strode in and fell to his knees beside her, then touched her almost hesitantly as if he were afraid that at contact she would disappear.

Her clothes were moist, her hair stringy and limp as they covered her face. He released a breath, and finally, said her name.

Her breathing was harsh, audible. Her body shivered under his touch. Chuck reached for the hair that spilled over her face and drew it back. Her eyes were closed, with dark rings under them. Her pale blue lips trembled.

"'Tis hot," she mumbled under her breath.

But her skin was cold and clammy, and it felt like death. He looked up at Daniel. "It's Carter," Daniel said. "Carter Baizen. She speaks his name in her sleep."

Chuck turned back to Blair, then gingerly lifts her upper body up from the floor until she rested back against him. At the movement his eyes fell to the glorious swell of her belly—almost full now. And to his shock he realized it had been close to eight months since their time together in the rented bed at Victrola. Her head fell back, and he placed a hand under there to help her rest on him.

"You bastard, Baizen," he muttered softly into her ear, "stay away from her. You've done your part." It was in vain hope that she would hear him, as far as she was into that other world. "Blair, darling, open your eyes, my love."

Her breath was on him, and it was glorious. Her eyes slitted painfully, but at the sight his heart soared. "I knew you were alive," she sobbed in quiet relief. "If you were gone, I would have felt it."

"I am too stubborn to die," he assured her.

And she smiled. A drop of tear tracked from the corner of her eye down to her temple. "I'm glad."

"That's it, darling. Open your eyes." He felt her cold fingers rest on his cheek, and she traced his nose, the line of his jaw. His breath stopped at his throat and he turned his lips to graze her fingers. "Stay. Don't close your eyes."

Her teeth chattered when she said to him as her eyes drooped, "Carter has got a fire."

He had heard stories of the bitter winters that could fell armies. And she was only one woman. One woman who was heavy with his child. He looked up at Daniel. "Covers," he bit out. "Horse blankets."

But there was nothing in the abandoned cabin. And even with that untended, Daniel reminded him, "They will come, Chuck. We need to escape."

"She is not fit to travel."

"She is not fit to stay. We will be riddled with bullets and skewered within the hour if we do not move," Daniel pointed out.

Chuck knew he spoke the truth. He turned back to Blair who rested her cheek against his chest. She looked to be asleep, but once more she had slipped to a place where her body forced her to take comfort. He licked his lips, and in the cold air they immediately dried.

He slapped at her face. "Blair," he said forcefully. "Blair, wake yourself. We are leaving this place." Her head lolled to the side, and he struggled to stand while pulling her up against him. Daniel gathered what he could from the cabin in vain hope that they would help them as they trekked in the snow. Chuck held her up against him. He hefted her up in his arms with a grunt, then staggered towards the door.

From a distance he saw the flickering lights, and whereas one time he would have thought them stars presenting themselves at a late afternoon of snow, he knew them now for what they were. "Torches," he said.

"They've come," Daniel said. He tied the implements he had gathered to the back of the horse.

Chuck assessed the beast. In his arms, he could feel her shuddering at the cold. But her harsh breath was against his throat and he was grateful for the sign of life.

"There is but one horse," Daniel said quietly.

"Your horse," Chuck said.

"A stolen beast," Daniel told him. "You have as much right to him as I. Take him."

Chuck turned to Daniel, then said with much candor, "Do not think I would not. Do not offer in jest."

"There is one horse, and you have Blair Waldorf. Take the damn beast, Bass."

"She cannot ride."

"She will ride, or she is sure to die here."

Chuck closed his eyes, then nodded. He had been raised to know he deserved it all, and in truth the same blood flowed through his veins that told him this was his right. As a Bass, this was his privilege to survive. But it was the very life he had once run from, and discovered he was much more than the son of an earl. And even now, he would take the beast—and he would take it without regret because it meant he was that much closer to saving her.

It was time. She had saved him from an execution in Boston. Saved him from living a life as empty as it had been before he met her. She had near died for him, given up her country to be by his side.

He took the reins from Daniel.

"God keep you," Chuck said to the man. It was the first time he uttered them in his life, and he meant it with every bit of his soul.

He held fast to her, embraced her, as he cantered off with the horse. In the snow the pace was slow. Daniel swept the path so that no one could trail them. And even then Chuck maneuvered the beast carefully so he would not jar her. The very journey endangered her and the child.

When there was nothing save for the plain field of snow, he lost count of the hours, or the days, that they traveled. When he found a tree, he tethered the horse and built a fire. The country was vast, and he hoped to heaven that the smoke would not be detected for miles. He inspected the bundles that Daniel had sent with them. He found cheese and stale bread. He placed his jacket on the roots of the tree and helped Blair rest against it while he rubbed warmth into her hands and her feet.

He heard the long, gasping intake of breath. Chuck turned slowly and saw her eyes open. She stared into the fire.

"Blair," he said.

Her gaze was intent on the fire. She did not turn to him. Her eyes closed, and his heart sank. Only for a few moments, because her eyes shot open once more. He frowned, and saw her bite at her lower lip as her face tensed with pain.

No. Not now. Not yet. Not in the middle of nowhere out in the open snow. Not when she was yet weak from the cold that had settled in her chest. Not when she could hardly stay away for longer than it took to say her name.

Yet it was that very pain that woke her from a sleep that proved more insidious than the fearsome rebels and their guns.

He knelt in front of her and took her hands. Her fingers tightened around his.

Her lips parted to breathe his name, but instead a pained cry erupted. He glanced down at the blooming red blood underneath her as it soaked into the snow. Chuck scampered and found a pot, which he filled with ice to boil water.

She wrapped an arm around her abdomen. A sharp gust of wind blew ice onto her face. She kept her eyes open. She kept her gaze on his tense face.

Chuck met her gaze, and he could see the moment pain ripped through her. He feared the panic leapt from his face, and he had no wish to terrify her. "Stay with me," he repeated, a command, a plea.

And she nodded. She threw back her head, and her hair curled around the gnarled surface of the tree. Chuck looked down at the growing circle of blood under her hips and wondered if that was how birthing was. She screamed, and Chuck crawled back to her, soaking the knee of his trousers in the bloody snow.

None of the lords of their house had witnessed a birthing. Indeed his own father had been in the study when his stepmother birthed her son. He had no knowledge of birth save the fact that it was a necessary part of family.

She opened her eyes and reached a hand. Chuck took it and placed a fervent kiss in the palm of her hand.

"Water. You have water?" she said.

"Boiling now," he told her, and he realized how this would be done. With no one else around but the two of them, he would be required to help her birth their child. And he had no knowledge of it, so she would need to keep her wits about. "It is you and I," he said, a little fearfully.

But her voice was stronger. "You and I," she agreed. "Chuck, clean yourself." She gritted her teeth against the next onslaught of pain. "Take your jacket from underneath me and pack it with ice." Her voice was assured, and so he helped her roll from side to side to free his jacket. At her instructions he tore large pieces of it and packet it with snow. "Place them between my legs. We need to stop the flow of blood." He frowned. "There is too much blood," explained gently. "It is not time for too much blood. We will remove it when the pains are many or near enough to each other."

But the words, as gently and as calmly as she said them, scared him. He held the packed ice to her and dropped kisses on her forehead. When she caught her breath as she rode the pain, he did the same.

Not yet, he told the child in his mind. Because a child must listen to a father, should it not? And he hoped all that he had done to disobey his father would not result in one great karmic kick in his arse.

The pain calmed somewhat, and the clenching of her belly abated.

"Take it away," she advised an hour later.

The night had fallen now, and with the night came stars. The snow had stopped, and in the mere light of the fire the blood in the snow was unrecognizable.

He took her hand and twined it with his. "Is it time?" he asked. She shook her head, and with the bleeding stopped he found his body winding down until he had to curl against the tree beside her. He rested his head against her shoulder.

He woke to a low moan. Chuck opened his eyes and saw that it was dark around them still, but there was a faint sign of the sun in the sky. It was dawn, and morning soon. Beside him she clutched tightly at his hand.

"The pains are close," she gasped.

"For how long?"

"Hours," Blair replied. A pitiful scream erupted from her mouth. "Oh God."

Their fire had died, and Chuck violently scampered to light it again. The water had dried from their pot, so again he gathered the freshest snow he could find. Thankfully enough despite the fact that the snowfall had stopped they were still surrounded by white ice.

It was a nightmare, Chuck thought to himself. Her screams pealed through the air. She gathered her skirts around her waist, and held onto her knees as she pushed. The sun burst into the sky when she screamed long and loud, and he almost wept at the sheer pain he heard. But then he watched as a dark head of hair crowned between her legs.

He clutched at the small shoulders when they appeared. Blair fell back against the trunk of the tree. Chuck quickly moved to catch the child as it slipped from her body and into his arms, followed by a mess of fluid and blood.

And then he was holding a child. His eyes widened as he took in the mottled, red face of the infant in his hands, so small he could carry him with two wide-splayed hands. "It's a son," he said in wonder, as if they had not always referred to the child as a boy. An ecstatic burst of laughter bubbled from his chest.

Blair was sweaty, and exhausted, and beautiful as she looked at them with concern. "He's not crying!" she exclaimed. "Give him to me."

So Chuck went to her on his knees and handed the infant over. She was gasping for breath when she drew the mucus from the child's mouth. "Rub his chest, and his back," she said tiredly. The small movement too tiresome, she had decided. So he did, and soon the child was mewling in his arms.

Her eyes were half-closed when she told him to cut the cord. Chuck wrapped the child in what remained of his jacket after he had dried it by the fire. In England his father had offered Blair with the red blanket that spoke of all the wealth and family tradition that the child would carry, but now his son was covered in rags.

"Give me the baby, Chuck." Exposed as they were to the elements, his son needed warmth from milk and shelter. She took the infant and pulled down the front of her gown and allowed the child to suckle.

"You have not eaten in days. Has your milk come?" he asked, because the very thought was impossible.

"The suckling should comfort him," she said. "But we need to find a roof over our heads, Chuck. We need food."

And then, as if her part was done, the strength that she had displayed since the day before was gone. She settled back, and he could see the deep shadows cast by her lashes. She looked the same now as she had when he found her. He was now responsible for people other than himself. He had a son, and he had—for all intents and purposes, a wife. And here in America, he was nameless. He was a pauper. He was nothing.

She was exhausted, and had talked him through the birth, was now warming the child in her arms as if she herself had warmth to spare. He set his jaw, then nodded, determined that he was prepared to take control.

"You did well, darling," he told her sincerely.

"So did you," she breathed as she closed her eyes.

By the time she woke he would have cleaned up their little area and burnt the remains of the bloody jacket. And he would have melted the last of the cheese and warmed the bread for her, so that her milk would come in.

Chuck stood. The expanse of the snow was wide. Endless.

Here in America he was nameless, landless. But he was a father now. He was a husband. He would find a way, and his family would have it all.

tbc


	24. Chapter 24

**Part 24**

He had sworn to her he had left her for the very last time.

At least, those were the whispered promises they made as they huddled under the tree surrounded by the unbroken expanse of snow. With her son to her breast, and his arms around her, Blair lay half-asleep from the blood she had lost that now fed the roots of their tree. The image of her parting flesh, the echo of her anguished scream—they reverberated in his head. He kissed the back of her shoulder, then pressed his nose into her nape.

The first time he left her she had been shot in the back, and she had lain bleeding at the docks.

The second time she was in his bed, in the comfort of his home, prime and open for the evil in England that took his father's life.

And so he swore, over and over, that he would not leave her again. By the end of the night, hunger pawing at her bellies, and the cold air sinking around them, Chuck Bass took his son from her limp arms and kissed her temple. "I will come back for you," he promised.

Because only for his son would he ever step away from Blair.

The third time he left Blair they were almost sure it would be forever.

"Go," she urged him.

He wrapped the child around the thick, torn jacket and held him tight to his chest. He glanced back at Blair, a mere pale shadow on the ground.

"We will all die if you stay. Take the baby, Chuck. Find a place for us." Yet he and she both knew there was as much a chance of finding shelter as coming back when she was already passed from the cold. "Hold him close," she said. "Tightly, Chuck. He is much too young to be in this cold."

Back home in England, he thought, fires burned in such controlled flames within a furnace, or a fireplace. And he could well afford another home and install his wife and son where the ice could never enter. But this was not England, and he was not an earl.

"Come with us," he said in desperation, though he were aware of a myriad reasons that she would not.

The best chance they had of survival was if he walked alone, sought for help for them. Chuck would cover more ground. The cold that sunk in her chest had rendered her barely able to move, and she was not fit to care for a child.

"Go on," she said to him. "Find milk. Find fire."

And he could hardly see her face for the tears in his eyes. But she was beautiful, the most beautiful sight in the world. So he made certain to dry his eyes as he knelt in front of her, and she made sure to smile at him in case this would be the last he would remember.

"I am coming back for you," he swore to her. "Say you believe me." And his son, in his arms, swaddled as he was, could certainly feel his heart. The child cried, but for that one moment Chuck cared little. Instead he leaned down and whispered, with his breath on her face, "Come hell or high water, whether I am alive or dead, I will return here for you."

"Of course, Chuck. And I will be waiting here. I will be waiting always."

But the cold had crept up on him, and so had the hunger. Hundreds of nights alone and dreaming of her, in America, in England—He lowered his head and fought the tears.

The moment of weakness passed. He held to their child and momentarily lifted him away from his own body. Every second was heat lost between them, but he needed to do this before he left. He held their son up before Blair, near enough that she could drink in the sight and press her nose into the child's neck.

"I adore you," she said.

And then he drew the baby away and wrapped an arm tight around the infant. "Name him," he said to Blair.

A child that survives needed a name. A nameless child could so easily be forgotten. With a name she could hold on to the reality of her son, could say his name as she fought against the cold.

"I will come back by sunset," he swore. "With or without good news, I will come back. So name him."

She rested her head back against the trunk of the tree. "I can hardly see all of you; you are surrounded by black shadows." His throat hurt. "And you ask me to think of a name."

He licked his lips. "Please."

"Carter." He had devised the plan that would bring them together once more. "Bartholomew." He had cared for her when Chuck could not, and was her defender when no one else was. "Daniel." Because he had done it all, for reasons that only Daniel Humphrey could understand, to ensure that Chuck and Blair were safe together. Her eyes drifted closed. "Harold." Who had been her hero long before heroes were needed in her life.

"Such tough decision, darling," he said gently. Chuck looked down at the restless face of their child and wondered how such a tiny man could live up to the bars raised so high by all the men in her life.

"It is not tough at all," she replied. Her lips curved a little. "I would have him carry the grandest name of all."

"Carter then," he said, because Carter Baizen had perished young, and meant as much to her as to him.

Her lips were tinged with a grayish tint, and even more he was fearful of leaving her. But they had made the decision as a man and a wife, as a father and a mother, and this seemed, in their heads, the way to survive. Yes the heart does not obey the head.

"Charlie," she breathed.

He paused.

"The greatest of all the men in my life. I would call him Charlie, and if he should become half the man you are, Chuck, my heart would be filled with joy."

He released the breath he held. At her words he stood and walked away abruptly. No goodbyes. He did not intend to leave. He was a man, and he would forage for food, hunt for shelter, but he would return.

With Charlie tucked safely in his arms, tightly as not to jar the infant, Chuck rode for what seemed to him like hours. Each second away from her broke him just a little. It was without shame that he crowed aloud at the sight of a little town. He charged towards it and stopped by an inn.

"Do you have room?" he barked at the owner, a somewhat balding little man with stubby fingers and a bulging stomach.

The man turned to him and named a price.

It was only then that Chuck realized that he carried no money. But with conviction he replied, "Aye. Give me a room for the night." He breathed harshly. "Room for three—my wife and I, and our little baby."

And then the man threw open the door. He pulled Chuck in to the inn, eager for the prospect of new coins. "Well, give me it."

Chuck stepped inside huddled with the snow heavy on his back. "Give you what?"

"Front the coins, mister. No charity you'll find 'ere."

"I need to get my money and my wife," he replied. "Will you hold the room for us?" Chuck wiped at his nose. "Lend me a wagon," he said.

"What?" the innkeeper said. "No money for room and you ask for a wagon. Stupid, you think I am? Git gone."

"No!" Chuck insisted. Charlie began to cry with a sound so pitiful and weak. Even the child could not look forward to the prospect of being exposed to the elements. "I need a wagon to take my wife here," he pleaded. One of the residents of the inn made his way down the stairs and stared at him. Chuck paid no mind. "We have been in the snow for days! She has gone and given birth to our son out in the open and cannot travel on a horse."

He had been reduced to begging, and he had no time nor space in his heart to mind.

"Help me."

"Leave your ring."

Chuck looked down in surprise and shock to find the small gold ring on his little finger, one with his initial carved on it. He quickly pulled it off and dropped it on the wooden table on which it clattered. The innkeeper bit into it and grunted in appreciation.

"Leave the child," the innkeeper added.

Chuck's eyes narrowed. "I will not leave my son with you like some gold for barter."

"Leave the child," the innkeeper repeated. "Look out the window. The snow comes harder than before. Leave the child, for mercy's sake."

Blair—

Charlie mewled, and Chuck swore it was from the way his heart froze in his own chest. He looked up at the innkeeper. "I know you not."

"Think of the child. You would not take the child of your worst enemy out in this blizzard," the innkeeper said to him gently now, and Chuck suspected the man might have a son of his own.

Finally, he nodded. "If you have water, and sugar—"

"I know how to feed a motherless child," the innkeeper replied, then took Charlie from Chuck's arms. "My own wife died in childbed."

Chuck rebelled at the thought. "Charlie is not motherless."

"Take the wagon," the innkeeper said. "Take some blankets with you, and a flask of my whiskey. You will need it if you find her." He called in the directions of the stairs. "Emma! Bring down some sheets and blankets." Chuck closed his eyes in gratitude. "Godspeed."

~o~o~o~o~

He tore through the same path he remembered, as quickly as he could in the old wagon he managed to rent from the inn. Chuck returned out into the open. The snow was hard and coated everything in sight. The blizzard did not allow him to see very far, and he was slowly filled with dread as he assessed his surroundings. It was dark now, with only the moon to guide him.

"Blair!" he yelled her name.

There was no response. In truth, he did not expect one. He nudged at the horse to wander more. This was where he had left her, where he had sworn to her he would return.

The tree.

Chuck sprang down from the wagon once he spotted the tree, and saw the clean white snow underneath it. The trace of the bonfire he had made and even the tracks of his horse from earlier in the day were gone. He ran as much as he waded in the fresh snow, and Chuck stumbled and rose, then stumbled and rose until he could reach that tree.

Only yards away but it seemed the longest he had ever trekked.

"Blair!" he screamed, not for an answer, but for release. "Blair!"

He swiped at his eyes with an arm to remove the snow that shielded his view. He had reached the tree almost, but he tripped on something solid beneath him. Chuck fell face first onto the snow, then caught himself and saw a glimpse of darkness underneath, not too far below.

His heart stopped, and then his fingers found cold flesh. He furiously brushed the thin cover of snow and found her, almost like she were encased in a casket of ice. "Blair, darling. Wake up, sweetheart. I've returned for you, like I said."

His words tumbled together in a mess of frantic pleas. He grasped her shoulders and pulled him up to him, prayed that with only such thin snow over her it meant she had not been under for too long. With all his might he lifted her and the snow coating her up in his arms. As he rose the snow dust fell from her and onto the ground. Chuck laid his ear next to her breast. His knees almost buckled in relief when he heard the faint, feeble sound of her heartbeat.

"Stay," he muttered. "Stay," he said, as if it were a prayer.

He took her back to the covered wagon and climbed in behind her. The blizzard was strong outside, and he prayed to God the stranger would take care of his son. He laid Blair down on the covered back, then stared down at her face almost white as the snow.

There was no place for a fire left the entire wagon combust, and no place to take her. He heaped the blankets over her body and she remained chilled to her very bones, unresponsive. Chuck rubbed his hands together to warm himself, then placed both palms against her cheeks. He did the same over and over until he was rewarded by a tentative flush on her face.

"Charlie must be warm and satisfied now," he said, his voice trembling as the cold seeped under his skin as well. "Full of sugar water. Better than nothing from before, but it would be better if he had his mother's milk."

Listen to me. Hear me.

Stay with me.

Chuck placed his ear against her breast again.

He peered outside, where the snow still fell steadily. In a few hours he hoped it would stop, so he could return for his son who was at least under a roof, with a fire. Chuck glanced down at Blair, who still did not sweat. Indeed, under those covers, it was freezing cold, and the temperature came from within her.

He uncapped the whiskey and took a gulp to warm himself. He coughed and felt the heat rise in him until sweat bloomed on his forehead.

He looked down at Blair. He pulled her up to him, closed his eyes in ecstasy at her unconscious natural response to curl against him.

"Blair, honey, drink up."

Some of the whiskey dribbled down her chin, but some she drank. In her sleep, she coughed, and the sound of it made him grateful. She settled in his arms as if she reveled in his warmth.

He rubbed his hands together and placed his palms on her—one on her throat, another on her forehead. She leaned towards the heat. "That's it, darling. Go on. Do you enjoy this?"

Color returned to the skin he had only just touched. Chuck released a breath upon his epiphany. He pulled his shirt off, then removed his trousers. He reached for the bottle of whiskey and tipped it to her lips, then drank some himself. When he was sufficiently heated, he crawled underneath the blankets and pressed himself against her. Since her clothes had been exposed and completely soaked, he undressed her under the sheets.

Drunk and naked.

He would tell her about this one day, when they were both alive and eager to tell stories. In front of their own roaring fire.

Her naked skin pressed against his naked skin. She chilled him. He gave her his heat. He wrapped his arms tight around her and closed his eyes. Blair curled up against him and slept. If this were how they died, caught in this blizzard, they would be found in each other's embrace. If they had no son, he would die happily like this.

But Charlie was waiting, and Chuck had only ever been with her for such short moments at a time. He reached for the bottle and drank, eager for the warmth. "Drink more, Blair. This is one time that spirits are good for you," he said softly into her ear. He sobbed in relief when her throat worked to swallow more and more of the potent liquid.

When the bottle was empty, he closed his eyes and rested his chin on top of her head.

"We will wake tomorrow, together," he said to her, as if sharing some secret plan. "I swore I would return, and I did. Now swear to me that you will wake tomorrow with me."

He slept, and in his sleep he was in some faraway island where there was nothing but sun and sand. And she was against him, curled up naked next to him in much the same way they were when they fell asleep. In his dreams they rolled around in the sand, locked in a kiss of whiskey and sun.

The cover of the wagon was torn. Apparently. He discovered it in the morning when the sunlight streamed right inside and hit his eyelids.

Sun.

He started awake. His arms tightened around her, almost afraid. Wet. Between them, he felt wet. God, he was completely wet, soaked. He caught his breath.

It was sweat. He was sweating underneath the blankets. More importantly, she was sweating. Profusely.

He sent up a prayer of thanksgiving.

"Blair," he said again, this time to call her attention. He raised himself up on his elbow and looked down at her face. "Darling."

Her eyes opened, and they were bloodshot and red and the most beautiful he had ever seen. "Chuck," she breathed. "Are we naked?" was her first question as she came to and from consciousness.

He chuckled, then nodded. He gave her an openmouthed kiss. "Welcome back," he said.

She pressed back with her own kiss, then she placed a hand on his face. "My breasts are heavy," she told him. "Where is my son, Chuck?"

"Are you well enough?" he asked, even though everything told him she was not. But her breasts were heavy despite the rationed food of the past two days. She had been ill, almost died out in the cold. But her breasts were heavy now, and neither he nor she would deny their child a taste of his mother's milk. She nodded. "Then I will take you to him."

Chuck rose and put on his trousers and his shirt. He moved to transfer to the front of the wagon. She pulled herself up with effort. The blanket fell down over her hips. Chuck gulped at the sight of her breasts. He had been gone from England before she grew full with her pregnancy, and had been preoccupied keeping them alive since they were reunited.

Blair noticed his reaction, then pulled the blanket up over her breasts. "It's for Charlie," she said softly, with a smile.

Chuck hid a smile, then nodded.

He drove the wagon back into town, and parked it by the inn. He was thankful to note that she had put her dress back on. When she moved to get off the wagon herself, Chuck reached up to lift her down. He carried her in his arms as they entered the inn. The innkeeper waved at them, then peered out the window to check the condition of his wagon.

"Come. Come. I have fresh sausages and eggs for you."

Blair rested her head on Chuck's shoulder. She was still tired, but by God's grace she was alive. "Charlie," she murmured. "I want to see Charlie."

Chuck asked the innkeeper. "Is my son asleep?"

"Bonnie little boy's asleep over there." He gestured over to the back of the dining area.

So Chuck walked over with Blair in his arms, because she deserved to see Charlie before anything else. Chuck frowned at the sound of the voice. "—with my grandson. I can not reward you enough for telling me about the child."

Chuck's lips thinned.

"What is it, Chuck? Is anything wrong?" she asked nervously.

"No, darling. Nothing I cannot fix," he assured her. Chuck stopped at the doorway, then met the eyes of the man who now held his son close. "Abram Baizen," Chuck said.

"There you are," Abram greeted. "I feared for you when they said you declined defense. I had been searching for you ever since. But all is well now," the old man said. "You have brought Carter's family home."

tbc


	25. Chapter 25

**Part 25**

Chuck placed her down on a chair even though he wanted her abed. She reached for her child, and lovingly Blair nuzzled the soft downy dark hair on the baby's head. She looked up at Abram Baizen and saw the brilliance of his tears. It was the sight of her holding the baby. When a man was so advanced in his life, and yesterdays were full, a man looked to the future like it were the most precious in the world.

"Thank you," she said to him. She traced her son's lips with her thumb. "What a sturdy little boy you are," Blair said softly. "To have survived it all."

"Babies, Blair, are strong. Carter was hardly sick at all as a child," Abram began.

Blair could see the protest in Chuck's eyes, but she stayed him a hand on his arm. Abram's gaze turned to the touch, but Blair tightened her fingers on Chuck and refused to draw away.

"You are tired and you should sleep," Abram told her. "Come tomorrow I would that you and the child ride with me to Boston. There is a place for you, and it is warm and safe and guarded. And your son will have all that he will need."

It was a shelter from the snow, warm food and company, and everything that her son deserved. Neither she nor Chuck could provide their little boy with what Abram offered.

"The offer is generous—" Chuck began.

Blair cut him off and said, "and appreciated. I would be indebted to you." Chuck's gaze slammed at her, and she could see the displeasure in his eyes. She met him with a steady look. "Do you not agree, Chuck? A home and all the comforts that Mr Baizen could offer us. It would be best for Charlie."

"Charlie," Abram repeated aloud in surprise. "The boy is Charlie."

And to that, Chuck could not contain himself longer. "The boy's name is Charlie," he said firmly, daring Abram to protest.

But the old man merely said, "I had hoped for the child to carry the name of his father. My son is gone, but his memory lives in this tiny gift you have given me, Blair." And for once since this played out the way she decided, she was at a loss for words. Fortunately enough, he continued and removed the burden from her shoulders, "I suppose it is acceptable. Carter would want the child to bear the name of a brother he loved, Lord Bass. And you are the reason that his family survives."

And finally, her gaze fell to the infant. Her eyes filled with tears, and not for a second more could she look at the grieving old man. "Will you give me time alone with my son?" she said softly.

"Of course," was Abram's solicitous reply.

Without another word, she reached up for Chuck who helped her to the rented room. When they had settled, Blair remained silent as she unbuttoned her dress and revealed one heavy breast to the cool air of the room. Chuck walked to the corner of the room so cheap it had no fireplace. He turned the coals in the brazier and waited for the warmth.

In the next days, and months, and years—perhaps forever—it would be the first that he would know. In any room, in any house, he would know how to stoke the heat. The past few days had left him with a fear so ingrained in him he feared he would dream of the image of her buried in the ice.

Slowly, he pulled himself up to his feet and drank in the sight as Blair rocked on the bed while Charlie suckled at her breast. He walked over to and sat on the sight of the bed, then leaned closer. He placed a butterfly kiss on her exposed shoulder, then touched his fingertips to the infant's cheek.

"He is so strong. A miracle," she said, her voice catching in her throat. "He would have died. Out there without you, he would have died."

"Look how strong suckles at your breast," he assured her gently. She had not looked up at him once, kept her eyes on Charlie as the baby fed from her. He answered the knock on the door and accepted the plate of food, and knew at once it was old Baizen who had sent the food. He speared a piece of sausage with the fork and held it up to her. She turned away, but he told her, "You need to take this, if you wish to nurse Charlie."

And so she took the meat and chewed, swallowed with a sigh for the days that there had been no food.

When both she and Charlie were sated and they were warm, Blair lay on the bed with the child tucked safely beside her. Chuck took his place on the other side and pressed up behind her. He heard her whisper, "You're troubled."

Even though he wanted a little longer of this paradise, he answered, "Would you truly do this to the man?"

She knew of what he spoke. The body in his embrace tensed, but he refused to let her slide away. "He can give Charlie a safe home, one we cannot provide—not in the middle of this war, not here in America, not now."

And despite the way she had said the words, without blame, without accusation, the guilt stuck in his gut and held tight. "He is an old man, Blair."

Now he found her again, that old Blair from long ago, the one who would do it all—even what she did not believe to be right—just for her mother. This time, she did it for her son. "And Charlie is an innocent child. He cannot suffer for our mistakes."

"You would do this," Chuck said quietly. "You would allow Abram Baizen to believe that this is Carter's son."

"I would do this to him." And then she answered his unspoken question. "And yes, Chuck, I would do this to you. If it means that Charlie will be safe, I would do this to us all."

They stayed in the quiet, in the darkness of the room. By tomorrow morning Abram would know that Chuck had stayed in the room with Blair, and would have questions that the old man would not ask. Chuck had seen the old man's eyes, and knew the man was not done grieving for his son. A man such as Abram Baizen would not dare ask, would not show displeasure, would not exhibit anything that could drive away his only remaining link to Carter.

And then he felt it, the way her shoulders trembled. He heard her sniffle. He tightened his arms around her and said, "There is nothing to fear."

"I have everything to fear!" she answered. "A wrong move, a secret spilled, and we would be hunted out here like animals. We have a child, Chuck. We cannot run as fast as before."

"And so you lie," he said.

Once she had been a spy for Vanderbilt, and she had been flawless. She had played the role of Nathaniel Archibald's fiancé and moved around the Boston circle to gather intelligence. It would have been the perfect mission until he and Carter were endangered and she saved their lives.

She had been a natural, and when she omitted the truth from Abram, he wondered.

"There is no pleasure in this game, Chuck," Blair confessed. "I take no pride in deceiving an old man."

He had never been as powerless, and realized that without the wealth he had abhorred so much before, without the prestige he had deemed a burden when he decided to sail to America with Jack, he was nothing. What he would not give for his title and his monies now. They had abandoned him just when he needed them most.

Blair was right that night once upon a time, when she shared with him the secret plan. She needed to marry money, because money, her mother informed her, would set her whole world to right.

"If I could give you and Charlie a safe place, if I could take you home—"

And she did not wait for him to finish. She answered, "In a heartbeat."

~o~o~o~o~

It was the death of him. That, or he was going to get arrested and languish in prison for the rest of his life.

When he started writing for the Patriot paper in a mission to educate his countrymen about the excesses of England, Daniel had not imagined that he would end up getting hunted down by the same men he had roused from their stupor. Rather ironic if one thought about it. Then again, Daniel Humphrey's life was irony in black in white.

If he had a pen and paper, Daniel would write about this.

After all, he had fallen in love with Serena van der Woodsen only to be run out of her life by an old woman. He had been out of the spotlight as he wrote about freedom from a tiny desk in a newspaper office only to be placed in the center of it all when he spoke at the House of Lords. Then he traveled to England to accompany his best friend in the search for her English lord only to abandon her for the woman who was betrothed to Chuck Bass.

And abandoned Lady Georgina in time to save Blair.

Lord, his life was a novel. If only he had the time to write of it.

He looked out the window and peered at the clear horizon. It had been far too many hours that he could see not two yards in front of him. The snow had been ravaging and steady, and he hoped that Lord Bass and Blair came through the blizzard.

What irony it would be if he should lose his life only so that the people that he saved would die out in the cold.

He was surprised to see the lone figure tethering a horse to the fence. It was such mark of his little skill for war and strategy that a stranger had managed to come so close without his knowledge. Daniel waited until the man shook off the snow and faced the cabin.

"Lord Bass," he muttered. Daniel stood with his back against the door. He heard the knock. Daniel remained silent.

"Mr Humphrey, I wish to speak with you!" Jack Bass called.

Daniel stilled his breath.

"I am alone, Mr Humphrey!" And then he added, "I wish to speak about my wife."

And then Daniel opened the door by an inch. He asked, "What have I to do with Serena?"

Jack Bass looked cold and harassed, so Daniel pulled him into the cabin. Jack answered, "Do you love her still?"

"You come to me, and beat Nathaniel Archibald's men, to ask me that," Daniel said.

"Aye. I would know the answer." A pause. "Surely you were not blind to her when you charged into the square."

And he had been blind. In that moment he needed only to take Chuck Bass. Serena had been there. He did not see her, but judging by Jack Bass' presence—Daniel shook his head. No. He would not think it. "I have no wish to tear a man and his wife apart."

"We will have a child."

And then it hurt. "That—that is wonderful," he managed. "Serena would be a lovely mother."

"She loves you still. I would have you know." Jack grabbed his arm and asked, "Knowing that, tell me that I have nothing to fear from you."

Daniel observed the aristocrat in front of him, who had now been reduced to a secret rendezvous with a rebel. Jack Bass, he realized, had fallen in love with his wife.

So he told him as honestly as he could, "I pose no threat to your marriage, Lord Bass. Indeed I could die tonight."

"And you do not love Serena."

"I will always love Serena," he answered smoothly. "As I will always love Blair. And I will love Lady Georgina."

"Little Georgie," Jack said in surprise.

Daniel grunted with humor. "It was unexpected."

"Lady Georgina is everything unexpected," Jack added. And then, as if convinced, he nodded at Daniel. Jack Bass looked out the window then looked back at Daniel. "When I left, Nathaniel Archibald had gathered his men."

"I thought so."

Jack Bass threw a black coat at him. "Burn your coat and use this. I will take you as far as Massachusetts, and then I will leave you to fend on your own."

Boston. There was a port there, and a way back to Georgina. He hoped to heaven Blair and Chuck had found their way.

"Thank you," Daniel said.

"No need for thanks," Jack assured him. "This is a favor you do me."

~o~o~o~o~

With the morning came the sunrise, and with it her body began to heal. The days passed and saw her walking. With Chuck's arm around her waist, she took her first trip down the street. He held tightly to her when he spied Colonial rebels with their muskets. No one approached them, and some merely nodded in greeting.

In this leafy hamlet everyone knew that the two residents of the inn were protected by Abram Baizen. The old man came for afternoons and spent time with Charlie, brought him clothes that were warm and ones that Chuck could ill afford. Blair dressed Charlie in a pale blue shirt and held him up proudly. Her lips parted at the sight of little monogrammed letters on the collar.

"It was Carter's," Abram told her, then took Charlie and carried him close to his heart. "CB."

She drew back her hand as if burned. Chuck combed his fingers through his hair. "I cannot accept this." It was the very thing she said to Bartholomew when he offered her Chuck's infant blanket, which now would be ash along with the remains of the Bass manor.

"Why can you not accept them? They were my son's," Abram said firmly, sharply.

In the weeks that followed, Blair grew strong and walked without Chuck holding her up, but she never walked alone. On the day she walked without his help, he followed with Charlie bundled tightly to him.

"Soon he will tell you that you are strong enough to live in Boston," he said. They were out in the street, but no one was close enough to listen.

"Then I will tell him I need more time," she said.

"This has gone on long enough," Chuck told her. He had held his tongue, swallowed his pride until he choked on it. She had been ill, and recovering, and they were so newly reunited. But the past weeks had showed him just how strong she was as she gained strength. She showed him how stubborn she was that she took her decision and executed to it. She reminded him how she could manipulate when needed. And she proved to him how very uncertain she still was. They were all reasons he fell in love with her, and he could not stand back without playing his part. "My son will not live off of Carter, will not live off on a comfortable lie."

She turned to him, then asked softly, "What do you propose?"

In America, when they fell in love, they were both caught in the middle of their own lies and it nearly destroyed them. In England, when they found each other again, they believed in the lies the other wove and drew long in pain about the misunderstanding.

"The truth, Blair, for once. The truth as our shield."

Because lies were weapons and they sliced so raw and jagged.

~o~o~o~o~

On the day that Abram came with a carriage for her and Charlie, the old man embraced her warmly. Chuck stood by the window with the baby in his arms. At the feel of the arms surrounding her, the knowledge overcame her that this was the precise moment to say the words. "Charlie is not Carter's son. Charlie is my son with Chuck Bass," she said quietly.

Chuck turned to look at her. His eyes registered surprise. His silence had always been her decision, and now she was prepared to break the quiet.

Abram pulled slowly away from her. It was not until she faced the old man, and saw the look on his face upon hearing the truth, that she truly understood.

Abram's lips thinned. He swallowed, then licked his dry lips. "Do you remember my promise to you, Blair, before you and Carter sailed?"

She nodded. Softly she said, "You promised me the grandest wedding of all. A feast that would last for days."

"When you and Carter returned," Abram continued. "All this time I pitied you your hasty wedding and widowhood before your twentieth year."

There were no words to use that could respond to him. She waited.

"You were already with child," he said as he assessed the boy and the time in between.

"Your son brought me to England with Charlie already taken root in my belly," she confessed. "We were not married. In truth, he had paid the captain of the ship to perform an empty ceremony so he can take me with him."

"For Chuck Bass," Abram concluded. She nodded. "For his brother." And then, he sighed. "My son was killed for this."

And that Chuck could not allow to pass, lest memories of those words haunt Blair forever. She would not bear the burden of Carter's death on her shoulders. "Your son died because of elements in England who are vile and would fight against those who were sympathetic to America. Your son died because he had allegiance to people who would quell the war by any means," Chuck clarified. "And he swayed his loyalty because he could not bear for you to be disappointed in his choice."

Abram stared at Chuck, who was a mere silhouette against the bright window. "So that is your son."

And Chuck's arms around Charlie grew tighter. "This is my son."

His gaze was filled with hate and betrayal when Abram looked back at Blair. "Are you quite proud of yourself?"

For the first time since the lie, she held her chin up. "I am," she admitted. "I am a mother." It was only now that she understood everything why Eleanor had been so bent on dispatching her to the highest bidder. "I had done it so that Charlie would have a chance at a life. Without you Chuck would have been found by the New Yorkers and Charlie and I would have been cast out in the cold."

"I did not think this of you," Abram said in disappointment.

"I am sorry to have hurt you, but I would do it again," she said firmly.

"I should have you arrested."

Chuck stepped forward, but Blair continued, "But you will not. Whatever I have done, and whosever blood it is in Charlie's veins, you still see Carter in his eyes."

The old man wavered. "What an arrogant, stubborn thing to say."

Her lips curved. "My marriage to your son was not real, but I had spent nights and days with Carter to know what kind of man you are." And that told Abram that Carter spoke of him. He was caught off guard. "I know how you love. And I know that once you love that person can do anything and everything and you will love them still."

"And my son told you this?" She nodded. "Spoken like a young man who knew he had done his father many wrongs."

And Blair took a chance. "And you loved him still." Abram grew quiet. Chuck did not dare draw close. "I was your daughter," she reminded him, "from the day you embraced me on that ship."

"My daughter, who has lied to me, used me—"

"Nathaniel Archibald said it many times. It was his excuse for every decision he has made. This is war. And all is fair, is it not—be it love or war?" She went up to him and placed the whisper of a kiss on his cheek.

Abram accepted the kiss. She turned to Chuck. Abram caught her hand. She looked at the old man. "I cannot allow you to leave."

Her lips parted. "What?" she said softly.

Chuck strode to her side and looped an arm around her waist. He drew her close. For the first time in front of Abram Baizen, he established his place at her side. "I will take my family," he said, stressing the word, "back home to England where I can provide for them, and they will have the life they deserve."

"Have I not provided well for them?" Abram challenged.

"I would be in your debt forever," Chuck answered. "But we only ever needed this lie until Blair was well enough to journey across the ocean." His eyes narrowed. "And you will go through me before you can stop her. No one will arrest her—not while I live."

Abram looked at Blair, and then at Charlie. "I cannot allow you to leave," he repeated, then clarified, "because you are right. You are my daughter now, and Charlie—Charlie is my grandson."

"Carter—"

"There is no lie now. I had suspected as much when the innkeeper told me that you had rented one room."

"The day you found us," Blair said.

"I had suspected for so long, and never asked. I did not wish to know."

Chuck cleared his throat. "I am an earl. The Bass estate is mine, and I will claim it for my family. They need a life that is more than beggar's."

Abram Baizen shared, "My lands here in America are large and profitable. And I have no son—not anymore." He reached to touch Charlie's chin. "You will not lack for anything here. My papers have been drafted to leave it all to Carter's wife and son. By all accounts, my entire holdings will go to your family, Lord Bass."

"You came here to begin again," Blair said when she looked at Chuck. "You abhorred the life you had in England. I would not have you live a life you do not want only because of us."

"Here you will learn to till the soil. And you will work." Then, Abram answered his last remaining concern. "Englishman or not, you will be safe here. I know that unlike Carter, you have not chosen a side in the war."

"I only cared about Blair," Chuck answered.

"And you have her," Abram said. "It's time to choose a side, Bass."

Chuck looked down at Blair, and she met his eyes with a searching gaze of her own. "What should I do?" he asked.

She smiled at him in encouragement, and then stood at the tips of her toes so that she could kiss his cheek. "I believe in you, Chuck. Whatever you choose, I will be behind you." He lifted her hand to his lips. "Beside you. Tell me where I should be and there I will be."

Chuck nodded. He leaned down and captured her lips with a kiss.

That night, he took her hand. They tucked Charlie in the bed and asked Emma to stay with him for a moment. Chuck and Blair walked out of the inn until they were at the end of the street, and it was open. Blair breathed in the air of the night and looked up at the sky.

"The clouds are gone," she whispered.

"Look at all the stars."

Blair smiled, then leaned her head back on his chest. He wrapped his arms around her waist. His breath was warm against her ear when he told her, "I have made my decision."

"Where would you have us, Chuck?"

Because he would have them, wherever they went.

"We will rebuild our lives. We will begin anew," he answered. "We will stay in America."

She took a deep breath. Home. Always and forever. "And what of your heritage, Chuck?"

"I will send a message to my uncle. Jack had always desired above all else to be the earl. We cannot depend on Abram for our lives, and so I will propose a trade to Jack. This is one he cannot refuse." Blair turned around in his arms and looked up at Chuck. "I would take my lands in Virginia, and he will take the estate in England. The solicitors believe me dead. It should not be difficult."

"You understand, Chuck, that if we stay, we are Americans."

"American," he said thoughtfully. "Charlie and I would be Americans, just like you."

"Charlie already is one. He was born here in the snow," she reminded Chuck.

Chuck nodded. He kissed her again. This time, her arms rose and she rested them on his shoulders. "I have a question for you," he said.

"Hmmmm…" she murmured.

And then, on the cobbled street, Chuck lowered himself on one knee. He looked up at her, and Blair saw the reflection of the stars in his dark eyes. "I am Chuck Bass," he said softly, much like the way he did on the night they conceived Charlie. "I am a descendant of some of the most powerful men in England, Blair."

She smiled tearfully, because she remembered every second of that night. He had been Chuck Bass, and she had been nameless.

"And you have been the world since the first time I saw you in that balcony," he told her. "I am Chuck Bass," he said, because the name once meant everything in the world. He continued. "And I love you," because this time the whole world revolved around the love.

"Yes," she whispered.

His lips quirked. "Will you—"

"Yes!"

"Blair Waldorf, will you keep your promise to me, a promise you made long ago, and finally marry me?"

She nodded, and tears fell like raindrops from her eyes. Blair fell over him with a clinging embrace and heady kisses.

The war was not over. It would not be over for years, would not be over until more of those who fought and even more of those who did not fight perished. The war was not over, and yet Abram Baizen threw the grandest week-long celebration that Boston had seen.

Blair came to Abram after the ceremony and found the man in his study, looking at the pocketbook journal that used to be his son's. She entered the room in her white dress. Abram looked up.

She asked, "How is it that I am happy, when death and destruction surround me?"

And Abram said, "Because you are happy."

She closed her hand over his. "I am truly sorry, Abram. Seeing this all must break your heart."

The old man shook his head. "Carter is dead. You are alive. Live your life and be happy for it. You are finally married to a man for whom you cross an ocean."

"Twice," she said.

At that, she left the room to leave Abram with the worn journal. Memories. Abram Baizen had only the memories of Carter and her family. Blair searched the ruckus celebration for her husband. She found him in the bedroom, seated beside their son. He held on to the sheets of paper in his hand, although he was not reading them. Blair made her way inside and sat beside him.

Chuck handed the sheets to her. She read each one. "These are land titles."

"To Virginia. To the plantations." He sighed. "And Jack has sailed with Serena back to London to claim the title."

She kissed the back of his shoulder. "I am happy," she said.

And he was happy, but she knew that losing something that you have had your entire life could rend your heart. Even though once he abhorred the title and what it represented, it had been a part of him since he was born. "I am happy to be a gentleman farmer," he told her. "The last English raid razed the entire crop for four of the fields."

"Then we will clean the fields, and we will plant another crop," Blair said.

Rebuild. In a land that was strange to both of them.

"I had hoped to plant only to two of the fields," he told her. "In the other I want a garden for you, much like the one that my mother had in London. Charlie would love to play in a garden." Despite the strangeness of the land, they would turn it into a home. "And in the other field, we will build a manor."

"Like the London house that burned?" she asked.

"Like your childhood home in Manhattan," he told her. Her heart fluttered at the thought. "What do you think, Blair?"

She nodded. "Let us rebuild."

fin

**AN: **Another one done. Thank you for all of your thoughtful reviews.


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